e Story sequel: Magda pov lovemake, bed, head, wishlist

MAGDA:

1.0 You have finished getting playman 257 ready and turn automatically to array a ritual lovemake outfit for this night. Your chest tightens making it difficult to breathe and a lump sticks in your throat. You decide, not knowing why, not to prepare it. You have an ultrasonic shower, dress and leave for work.

As you walk down the road to the transmit booth the other women walking with you seem not to exist. Only the hollow hurt cutting deep within you occupies attention. You seem to see Jonathan everywhere; even on the roof of a house you walk past. But you know he’s been re-cycled, gone forever and the vision is mental.

You are somewhat late to the workplace and the other women seem to annoy you with their presence. Catrina and Bellina ask how 256 is going. Catrina has never forgiven you for the punch in the face. You own up. 256 is no more and commence crying. They have never seen this before and think it must be an experiment of yours since 256 was such a success. Bellina comments that there’s a problem with your face, it may need re- cycling. "Why re-cycle 256?" She spitefully adds. "It kept saying that it loved me and I did not know what that meant and it could not explain." You answer. "But lovemake, was it good at lovemake?" Catrina enthusiastically enquires. "Yes," You reply, "Very good."

You dare not say more. "Will 257 be better?" Bellina asks. "Yes. I made 256 and 257 has the same specifications with a few modifications so it will be better." You triumphantly reply, wiping your face dry.

Bellina leans over, whispering, "Have you had the ‘bleeding?’ Tintel calls it ‘the monthly’? Puzzles you. You answer no. "It comes from the frontal small orifice at precisely 30 day intervals," She adds.

You tilt your head and remember that you bled once only when you severed a finger with Tintel’s laser as playman 28 twitched while it’s hand was being grafted. "You must get it," Bellina adds, "It made my playman absolutely ravenous for lovemake," She continues, "Tintel said it was the natural hormones being issued which did it," Is her triumphant finale as the start-work chime sounds and you get up to commence work.

2.0 You seem to be permanently in a dream, a numbing feeling is with you always. You know playman 257 is at this precise time being life-forced by Tintel. You know it will be ready to lovemake with you this night but take no solace in the knowledge no matter how hard you try.

Exterior objects have no colour. They seem to move, like time does, so slowly to your mind and you know not why. Why do you hurt so much? You ask yourself. Not a physical pain but inside, deep inside the pain makes you feel hollow. Never having known love you cannot even begin to understand the loss lost-love can bring. You have to find something to take your mind off Jonathan.

Mentally numb you lose your way. Lose your way in this huge complex you have supervised for over four decades in this re-cycle. You enter innumerable playman workrooms apparently subconsciously searching for Jonathan, it seems.

Each workroom entered only makes things worse; every playman making such primitive items appalls you. ‘Not like Jonathan made for me,’ your cruel mind tortures you and you commence crying not knowing you are the only woman with this capability in this insane society.

The last workroom you enter disgusts you. It is so banal what this playman is making. You drag it from the chair wanting to hurt it for the simplicity of what it makes but from deep within your stomach you vomit all over it. You know not why.

It lies before you cringing and crying like the two hundred and fifty-six playmen you have previously made and re-cycled. You compose yourself.

The morning sickness somewhat violent this day, your mind offers. You leave the playman covered in vomit, compose yourself further and make for the supervision room. As you continue you pass a late playman.

Take your mind off Jonathan you self-talk. Why is this playman late?

You turn, call to it, viciously, "Playman, stop."

3.0 The playman stops. Hangs its head looking away from you making you madder. You walk up to it; twist its head to look you in the eyes. It starts trembling beneath your touch. Like all playmen, weak, not like Jonathan, your mind cynically observes. "Why are you late for work, playman?" You demand aggressively. It commences shaking. You notice. "I….., I….," Its wavery voice annoys you, Jonathan was so firm, your mind tortures you. "Hand me your ident, playman."

It gropes in its tunic pocket handing you an ident then hangs its head as you look at it. You shrug, calm, your mind observing that a zero-two number playman must be something unusual to have lasted so long. "You’ve been around for a long time, playman zero- two. You probably know many women so you can come to work late. Is this so?" It nods its head trying to drill itself into the floor.

You hand it back the ident, look down at its genital area and continue down the metal-floored corridor. You feel a little better but don’t feel Jonathan’s fertilized cell within you dividing into two.

You thought you saw this playman’s genital area start to stick out, ‘Just like Jonathans,’ your mind tortures but you dismiss the not possible thought.

4.0 You sit in your supervisors dock at another of Tintel’s multitudinous in-outs, wondering. You look carefully around, no one is there. So you pull your work garment down slightly, to inspect your frontal small orifice. This is the first time you have ever thought about this orifice.

You cannot get low enough to visually see so you use a finger. It slides in easily. Strange, you mentalise. Two next, a bit tighter. Three, next, much tighter, but then, the feeling!

Your mind destroys reality as you work your fingers autonomously back and forth, faster and faster until Jonathan is on top of you and you hold him like never before.

But he is not there, there is no warmth of finality to your selfish, autonomous, reciprocating act, no fire spraying internally.

You continue in self-gratification ignoring this logical mind deduction.

You have discovered masturbation but have no name for the technique.

5.0 You are lost with a technique the ancients said would make your ancient male counterparts go blind, something you have never before experienced. Not masturbation for selfish ends but masturbation for love, a lost love you have no idea of, or about.

"What are you doing?" A voice breaks your self-stimulation and Catrina stands before you. Discretely your wet hand tries to hide. "I was worried about the ‘bleeding,’ you reply, "and was examining myself." "Yes, the bleeding," She replies looking guilty and walking away. Your hand feels so wet, ‘It must be the bleeding,’ your mind offers, so you pull it to view from hiding but no blood is on it, only a wet, fish-smelling, frothy substance greets your eyes and nose and disturbs your mind. There is no bleeding! Why? You ask yourself.

You serve the remainder of the shift completely perplexed and worried that ‘your’ frontal small orifice has become much larger and you do not know how or why. You try to take your mind off your problem. But the thought passes as you mentalise back to the eye organ that you left in the re-cycled organ bank. You forgot it was there all this time. You are concerned that maybe you need to be re-cycled.

You delve deeper and deeper into unreality as your mind weaves onwards. You fail to hear the ‘go- home’ chime and leave late immersed in worry and self-pity.

6.0 When you get home 257’s re-cycler is empty. You go to the eating area and there it is eating. "What are you doing, 257?" You ask. It cringes. Not like Jonathan you mentalise as you lead it back to its re-cycler. It walks awkwardly you notice. ‘Maybe the genitalia,’ you mentalise, but this evokes the memory of Jonathan. His always stuck out when you had first made him, your mind tells you. You make sure it’s ensconced therein and return to lay on your bed the hurt welling up inside you even more.

You look across at the re-cycler and think back to when you first instructed 256 to lovemake. He had said he hurt and had to kiss you to make the hurt go away. You never then and even now know what ‘kiss’ meant. But it was sooo nice! You relive the past as your hand descends by its own volition.

His face overpowers you. You are attracted to it for unknown reasons. Its lips touch yours and yours tingles like never before as it’s tongue parts them sending uncontrollable shivers down your spine. You don’t know what is happening, lost, you try to pull back but its tongue flicks in and out like some universal hypnotic command, you subside, become compliant, subservient, a woman.

You experience 256 removing your garment, slowly kissing, nurturing, and softly biting every inch of you with its lips, teeth and tongue. Always driving lower, your breasts, each one getting attention, your midriff, navel, then onto lower areas, depths unimaginable until you lay prostrate before 256, demanding, wanting, a now participating complement of mutual lust never before experienced in your long life.

The penetration of its hard, erect organ mystifies you. It hurts as your hymen ruptures for the very first time in your long life but somehow seems right. You thrust your hips like as in lovemake and 256 moans injecting fire deep within your belly, time and time and time again. You bite, scream, kick, squeeze and moan in delight at your ‘first time’. You make lovemake with 256 until the early hours of the morning.

You return to reality. Look over to playman 257 asleep in the re-cycler. Satiated by this mental reverie knowing the bed will dry your wetness you invoke Tintel, voice record mode, "Playman 257 appears to have all the attributes of 256," You record. "It is more obedient, however, which is good," You add, although your mind laughs and adds that you don’t want to lovemake with it. This disturbs you. You know not why but you lie to yourself.

You have discovered the only way to keep the one thing alive, mentally, that you deliberately destroyed in a selfish fit of rage.

Your hand. The manipulation will obsess you for many months to come.

7.0 Weeks pass. Each night apparently with a mind of it’s own, your hand creeps down to your frontal small orifice, now even larger, you know not why. Then the vision of Jonathan appears. Your moans ended you are very wet and partially fulfilled knowing the bed will automatically absorb the fluids released from your orgasm that you have no word-concept of.

At times you fear going blind in case you will never mentally see Jonathan again. But it keeps you going and stops the lovemake with 257 that you fear most in case this destroys Jonathan forever from within your mindful longing.

You rise every morning at the designated time. As you shower the walls seem to make your stomach seem larger. You ignore it as an illusion. The sickness you feel each morning diminishes, as does the urge for weird foodstuff. You pass your worry over this into the rear of your mind. You must go to work and supervise the making of just enough eating stuff to make you happy.

At night you watch 257 wishing you could only have Jonathan back. To have his mouth worship you once more. Worship every part of you as it did before. But you realise you cannot and sleep. In dreams you may utter words that meet Jonathans in a longing that has no physical fulfillment except from your hand.

Laying on your bed you mentalise all these things welling up inside, then you mentally hear the front door invoke and automatically think, ‘Open.’ Catrina comes in looking all around. You presume she looks for 257 and are glad it’s hidden behind the velvet curtains 256 made for the re-cycler. She brazenly walks to the re-cycler, lifts the velvet curtain and nosily peeks in. "Oh, its asleep," she disappointedly utters walking to sit beside you. "You have been quite alone at work, dear, is there something wrong?" She asks.

Sitting up you try to hide your fears, "Why, no. It is 257." Catrina eagerly leans forward, "I knew it, he is much better at lovemake than 256 was. Tell me this is so." You smile. Hide the negativity you believe to be shown. "How did you guess," you lie in reply to this bitch. "I guessed it!" She squeals delightedly. "It must be the bleeding. The bleeding is making my twenty seven absolutely ravenous for lovemake." She adds.

You mentally commence worrying again. The bleeding has not yet come to you. "You also seem to be getting thicker abdominally," Catrina comments and smirks. You draw your stomach in and look down. "Really, I haven’t noticed. It must be all that good nourishment 256 and now 257 is making for me," you add making Catrina more jealous. As a checkmate you add, "Would you like to have some?"

Unfortunately Catrina doesn’t bite and carries on, "I am really glad I removed the mens-stration-inhibitor from the water supply in this area," she triumphantly adds.

You lose what she subsequently prattles on about as you mentally descend into worry looking at your abdominal area. Is it bigger?

8.0 Months pass. Then you acknowledge that which you have ignored. Your stomach area is somewhat larger. You panic and wonder if it’s because the ‘bleeding’ has somewhat dammed up inside since it never came to you but apparently did to others. You sleep thinking this the reason. Nothing to worry about.

You wake to 257 placing the ornate golden tray with breakfast on it across your thighs. The urge to let Jonathan get between them in orgasmic pleasure returns for one parsec, you know not why but returning to reality you look at 257. What about it? Is there hair growing on it? You caress its head, examining. Somehow ‘it’ is becoming an ‘he’ for you.

Then he does something out of character. He softly kisses your forehead. At his lips touch a fire runs through you. Almost like another.

But, you unknowingly have subconsciously vowed to be true to the memory of Jonathan. You know not why.

9.0 You look at him, puzzlement appearing on your face as he removes his lips from your forehead, longing for him to caress other places you possess. You draw back realising its not Jonathan as it subserviently returns to its re-cycler.

Your mind teases hopefully, ‘It could be Jonathan, couldn’t it?’ You shut off the thought.

The rest day passes slowly.

The night quickly, as you whimper and mouth Jonathans name over and over again in silent, tortured dreams enhanced by your hand addiction. In your dreams you even return to the memory of your very first playman.

You had spent many years at the Playman Creation College. You remember, dreamingly remember playman zero-one. You had chosen the very best organs with which to make it. You assemble the legs, the thorax, the arms, the head and the hands on the base of the recycler. Tintel reconstructs it with your help. You get the lovemake outfit ready so meticulously as you do the makeup. Yearning, oh so yearning for the feeling that you have been told about. The feeling of lovemake.

The clitoris must be at the prescribed height, the pelvic thrusts in accordance with the universal standard, ISO9000.

You are numb with the memory.

Then the dissolution comes. It doesn’t work.

You re-cycle it. Make another. Then another and another to quench your thirst for the desire burning within somewhere. You feel, no, you know all the women laugh at the theories you develop.

Until playman number 256. Jonathan.

He comes to your dream. Raping it. Dissolving it until you return to reality and realise your hand is at it again.

10.0 You stand at the re-cycler and scan your stomach area; transmit the data to Tintel from the hand-held bio-scanner. 257 lies in the re-cycler beside you. The continual size increase of your stomach is matched by the ever-increasing fear appearing in your eyes. Tintel’s diagnosis is a growth within your abdomen, something not unheard of but rare. You feel proud to be rare. Tintel directs that the solution is complete re-cycling or growth removal using other special skilled females experienced in the procedure, a department of the IRS.

Every time you consult Tintel 257 watches, uncannily watches which worries you. Months have passed and you have never once tried to lovemake with it. This worries you even more. Jonathan seems a dim memory now but the hurt you feel in losing him stays in your hollow breast.

You often wonder if the hurt you feel is what Jonathan called love but your mind refuses to accept something so hurtful as being so wonderful.

11.0 You leave early. 257 is asleep. The Growth Re-cycle Centre only scares you. The females there wear weird clothes, high boots with funny jackets. You remember hearing about these women types before but always thought they were imaginary. They prod your body and make fun of you, just like the females at the nightclub made fun of Jonathan, your mind reminds you.

You are coming to hate this society that you were once proud to be a part of.

You try to help. "Is it the bleeding?" You ask. "Bleeding? What bleeding?" The woman now prodding you asks. "In our sector we inhibited Tintel from putting the mens-stration-inhibitor in our water supply. This apparently caused bleeding from our frontal small orifice." You offer. The woman prodding you looks puzzled so you add, "It makes playmen absolutely ravenous for lovemake without using stimulation," you naively add. "Really," the woman quips and continues her prodding of your abdominal area. "Our area water supply is not the same as yours so I wouldn’t know," she tersely adds.

You leave perplexed and feeling even more alone.

You return home to find 257 lying asleep on your bed. You should put it in its place, in the re-cycler but you feel so alone and frightened you lie beside it, its warmth somehow easing your fears.

The sound of it breathing makes you remember Jonathan, it breathes and smells just like him your mind teases.

Sleep comes quickly. You dream.

12.0 Jonathan is beside you. He turns over and kisses you. His tongue silently, softly, sensuously sliding into your mouth possessing your very being and evoking feelings dormant these past nine months. You murmur in delight as you accept this gift mental fate purveys. Your whole body quivers in anticipation as he rolls on top of you, your months of pent-up desire flowing through your body, upwards, to end up waiting for relief via the hardness almost penetrating you that you will swallow into your whole being as his fire spurts and spurts, again and again.

You will greedily accept the fire of life from him you know nothing about.

Through the raised wall of your stomach you feel an almost imperceptible, tiny, outward push and wonder enters your mind.

The growth? You mentally curse it!

Jonathan rolls off and places his hand at the source of the feeling, just below your navel. You waken, slowly. 257 is beside you, his hand on your stomach. "257, what are you doing?" You demand, utterly confused twixt reality and the dream world.

You remove its hand from your stomach and sit up. "Go back to your re-cycler." You add. It subserviently returns to its place.

‘It’s so like Jonathan, he could be," Your mind offers you.

13.0 At work the next day you sit behind your supervisors desk with difficulty. You took to wearing cavernous garments to hide your widening profile from the other bitches a long time ago.

An alarm from amongst the thousand within your monitor attracts you, you mentally right-click as the microstuff of Tintel directs and the number ‘257’ appears on-screen. ‘More information,’ you mentalise, wishing you had one of those new mental superior Tapple controllers. "This playman is manufacturing weapons," Drifts into your mind puzzling you since you have no idea what weapons are. "Confirmed," You mentalise, right-clicking mentally to cancel the alarm and making a note to ask 257 what it intends with this ‘weapons’ thing.

Almost immediately another alarm causes you to repeat the previous process only to find it 257 again. "This playman is manufacturing space-time modifiers, do I comply or inhibit?" Tintel asks.

You sit for a while, thinking back to when you had a similar problem with 256 when he made the seed things. Your hopeful heart misses a beat while your mind rationalises that 257 has the same modifications as 256 had so it will develop in the same way.

You authorise compliance but make a note of the workroom 257 operates from.

At the shift end you walk to the workroom noted and look around seeing nothing strange. Then, on the floor, you see the flower. You don’t know what it is.

You pick it up; both the touch and the smell of your very first flower make you feel faint. You clutch it to your breast and wander giddily home.

14.0 You arrive home with no memory of the journey, your mind numbed by the beauty and smell of your first flower you still clutch to your breast. 257 sits in the eating area eating, your meal, as always, prepared and ready.

It really is a good playman, your mind observes.

You sit opposite it placing the flower on the eating table. "What were you making at work today, 257?" You quietly ask. It shrugs, carries on eating.

You pick the flower up and ask, "Did you make this for me?" It nods. "What is a ‘weapon’?" You follow with. The face of 257 displays guilt but it carries on eating ignoring you, looking downwards.

You get up and leave the diner. Go to your bed and get the stimulator from under it. You return and point it at 257.

You’ll get the information. Make it talk. You pull the trigger. Your mind offers, ‘It’s so like Jonathan.’

15.0 Nothing happens. You pull and pull the trigger time and time again. You adjust its sensitivity upwards and downwards all to no avail. In sheer frustrated anger you throw it at 257 and sit at the diner holding your head in your hands and sobbing your heart out not knowing why.

It gently pulls you to your feet pulling you close to it, its face close to yours. "I love you, Magda," It says.

Your heart seems to rise exiting through your throat and the hurt stops.

A ringing noise begins in your brain until your head hurts.

It cannot be! Your rational mind attempts to break through, you close your eyes, begin exploring it’s face, it’s head his nose.

His mouth encloses the fingers of your exploring hand sending shivers down your spine like it always did.

You hear the words, "I love you too, Jonathan," coming from the lips you wish to worship him with.

You don’t care anymore.

Even if 257 is not Jonathan, you can pretend it is, if the hurt within you stops by doing so.

16.0 You don’t remember taking him to your bed, it happened. You don’t remember worshipping him with every part of your being. It happened.

One minute you lay there waiting to be taken, no lovemake demanded of him. He worshipped you with his mouth and tongue as you did the same to him.

You wonder why your breasts are crying white tears as Jonathan mouths them. Perhaps he knows how to remove the growth within you, your mind teases.

For some reason he would not inject his fire within your belly as before but the hot, searing fluid came, you know not wherefrom and it still warmed your inside in a different, still sensual way.

His taste, the taste of salt in your mouth from so rigid a genitalia confirmed his pedigree. "You know you’re pregnant, Magda, my love," He asks, as you lie beside each other both spent. "Pregnant? What is that?" You reply, kissing his lips as he cradles your head in his arm. He smiles. "Why am I all wet down my legs?" You ask.

He laughs and kisses you again, softly.

His tongue no longer flickering in and out but now extracting yours into his mouth in a dance of fiery ecstasy.

The pain comes slowly. You’ve never experienced real pain in your eighty-five years; this pain is making up for that. You feel your insides are going to turn inside out and are very frightened, "Why am I hurting so much, Jonathan?" You cry as he tries to comfort you. But your perfect, recycled body, nurtured by months of good nourishment takes over. Contractions get closer and closer until you hear a sound never before heard in your long life or in this world.

You look up and Jonathan is holding aloft the screaming, bloody growth that was within you. You lie back exhausted, relieved and proud that your playman, the one of the many you have made, could do such a thing.

17.0 You slowly waken. You feel energy flowing out of you seemingly from your right breast. You glance down and your eyes widen in amazement at the small Jonathan sucking on your breast. You know not why but it’s natural that you clasp him close, kissing him as he suckles. You look up; Jonathan stands at the foot of the bed, smiling at you.

You return his smile and wonder what he had to do with this magical thing so seemingly dependent on you. Had he made it at work for you crosses your mind?

Jonathan crawls beside you placing his arm around the both of you. You do not know why but you feel safe. The hurt felt for the past months has gone to be replaced by a feeling of euphoria.

You fall into dreamless sleep.

You have found your first loves and you are nearly eighty-six years of age.

18.0 Voices awaken you. You slowly open your eyes to see the Growth Re-Cycle women beside the bed. "And what is this playman doing in your bed?" Demands one of the women. "He helped remove the growth." You reply somewhat confused.

The two look at one another in puzzlement and small Jonathan starts crying. One of the women pulls the sheet off the bed revealing the tiny bundle nestling in your arms. This woman takes a stimulator from her belt and points it at small Jonathan.

Inexplicably Jonathan leaps from the bed at her knocking the stimulator from her hand to fall noisily screaming to the floor. He then falls and runs in a peculiar manner into the eating area. The woman picks up the stimulator Jonathan knocked from her hand, smiles at the other and follows him into the eating area.

The second woman comes round to the side of the bed and takes small Jonathan from you. You are again confused. The woman takes small Jonathan to Jonathan’s re-cycler, she initiates the re-cycle process and holds small Jonathan by his legs her intention now obvious to you. You scream and hold your head in your hands, sobbing violently. "No, don’t." You scream at this bitch.

Jonathan bursts into the bedroom, a short black stick in his arms. You observe his finger though the funny hole halfway along it’s length and wonder. The woman grins at him and reaches for her stimulator. Fire comes from the end of the black stick Jonathan holds and two funny noises. You notice two small metallic cylinders fly into the air from the black stick. He drops the stick and walks peculiarly again across to the woman who drops small Jonathan in his arms then falls, herself, to the floor.

Jonathan returns small Jonathan to your waiting arms. You hold this tiny bundle of warmth close. Jonathan kisses your forehead.

19.0 You watch as Jonathan drags the first woman to the re-cycler and loads her into it. You notice the small flashing light on her belt flashes no more and realise the Trackers will find him and send the IRS for him. Concern rises in your breast and your mind offers this to be strange concerning a playman. He re-cycles the second woman. He invokes Tintel and commands the re-cycle.

The blue light envelopes the bodies, tearing them apart and you do not like the now hurtful recycle sound, you know not why. "Why are you re-cycling them, Jonathan, playmen are not allowed to re-cycle," You ask.

He walks to you, sits beside you. "What would happen if a playman were to do such a thing?" He asks. "Why," You reply thinking an answer so obvious, "The Trackers would know and the IRS would come for it." You reply as you realise small Jonathan is hungry and insert your nipple into his mouth.

It feels so good, how he sucks the life force from you re-cycling your bodily fluids.

20.0 Jonathan is loaded down with the bags as you reach the workplace. You find this ‘papoose’ thing exciting. Small Jonathan lying on your back inside it bouncing on your back fills you with delight. It makes you laugh for joy, a new experience.

You arrive at an empty workroom. Jonathan drops the two heavy black bags, takes off the container on his back and lays it beside the bags. He sits in the chair. You gasp in wonderment as he makes a pretty picture appear on the small rear wall. You wonder why he’s going to make something for you when the IRS is coming for him.

You become aware of one of the women from the Growth Re-Cycle Centre standing there pointing a stimulator at Jonathan. You nudge his attention.

He stands, stepping in front of you and he turns. The woman smiles, twistedly, malevolently.

You remember how these women tried to re-cycle small Jonathan so you bend down behind him, get one of the black sticks from inside one of the black bags on the floor. You push your finger through its hole where you remember Jonathans finger was and pull the small curved thing there. Nothing happens. You can see a rectangular opening beneath the black stick matching the rectangular objects scattered in the black bag so you pick one up, insert it and pull the curved thing again. No fire comes. You pull back the only thing left. There is a click. You rise, step in front of Jonathan. Pull the curved thing again.

Your arms twist as the black stick makes a circular trace accompanied by the funny noise you heard in your bedroom.

Only one projectile meets it’s mark, but that is enough. The woman will not re-cycle your Jonathan.

Only you are allowed to do that and it hurt you so much once, so once is enough you mentalise.

21.0 You turn to Jonathan, the smoking black stick still in your arms. "Your re-cyclers work good," You smilingly offer. He takes the black stick from you dropping it back into the black bag.

He turns and picks up one of the black bags hurling it at the lovely picture displayed on the small rear wall. It lands amongst the pretty things on the ground there. The other two items follow. You wonder why he does this mad thing but you are getting to like what is happening, you feel so real and alive for the first time in many centuries.

He turns to you. How pretty he is you mentalise and add, "Maybe there is time to lovemake him on the chair?" You smile at this new thought. You’ve grown now; you have a small Jonathan depending on you strapped to your back in the papoose thing.

Jonathan takes your hand and kisses your mouth. Your tongue lingers there as never before, his mingling with yours. "When I say jump, you jump," He orders.

You nod and think he’s so dominant and like it. "Jump," He orders.

You both jump into the pretty picture displayed on the small rear wall. You merely following this playman you made, once, or perhaps, twice, who stops the hurt within you when you say you love him but following to protect and nourish the small Jonathan he made for you at work now carried on your back. You know not why.

22.0 Had you both stayed you would have seen a barrier materialise on every workroom entrance throughout the workplace accompanied by an alarm almost too rusty to operate. Would have heard the sound of myriads of sky craft arriving.

It has raped this world, playman 256.

You know.

This world and Tintel will not rest until they retrieve both the loss and playman 256’s destruction.

Your playman, Jonathan, has opened the Gates of Hell.

END ------ GOTO Jonathan