It's Always Time

by Oblimo

  Someone interrupted him with a polite cough. It rebounded around the car over two dozen times. Thirty-one green fairies arched their eyebrows at him from shadowy wells and corners.

  "Oh, shit," Dee said. "I'm sorry, guys. Girls. Galateas."

  A few green fairies crawled out onto the passenger seat. "What are you sorry about?" one fairy demanded. "That was awesome. You were awesome. And you know it."

  Agreement echoed around him as the green fairies crept out from hiding. "Yeah!" "Fuck, yes." "Totally blew my mind." "Really? Mine too!" "Well, duh."

  "But what we really want an explanation for," said a green fairy standing on the cluttered backseat, "is this." She pushed aside a silvered solar reflector, rifled through a small tote bag, and tossed an overstuffed, zipper-locked freezer bag at him.

  Fée Galatea's neck elongated so she could get a better look. "You brought along a second set of clothes," she said, "you vacuumed sealed a second set of clothes. You seconded-guessed me? Again?"

  "I didn't know," Dee said, "I only suspected. I know how much you like ambush-sex, and I know you know how much I like ambush-sex, and I really can't walk around in shredded clothes covered in green slime where we're going, even the kind of place that's open late at night. You're not mad, are you?"

  Dee felt the pressure of thirty-one silent needled grins. "So, uh," said Dee, looking to Fée Galatea in desperation. "What happens now?"

  She glared at him but soon relented. "Okay, okay," she said, turning to her duplicates. "How are we going to work this out?"

  "Work what out?" said Dee.

  A green fairy swung over the head rest and onto his shoulder. "How's about I pick a number from one to one hundred?" she suggested.

  "Pfft," dismissed one of the green fairies standing on the passenger seat. "That would never work."

  The fairy on his shoulder crinkled her face in confusion. "Why not?"

  Thirty-one pairs of eyes rolled, and the green fairies all chorused: "Sixty-nine."

  The fairy on his shoulder giggled. "Oh, yeah!" She slung down into Dee's lap next to Fée Galatea. "Let's wrestle for it!"

  The other fairies hissed and catcalled. "Boo!" "Lame!" "No Jell-O wrestling jokes!"

  "Wait a minute," said Dee, aghast. "You don't really mean you all want me to—"

  The catcalls got louder. "As if you didn't know!" "As if you didn’t want to!" "No playing hard to get!" "Actually, I like it when he plays hard to get." "Yes, yes, everyone knows that already. Now shut up."

  "But," Dee said, "couldn't you all just reassimilate and re-remember?"

  "No way!" "It's not the same!" "I want to re-remember being fucked apart for the first time, thirty-two fucking times!"

  "Ooh, yeah!" came the resounding, unanimous reply.

  Then: "Holy shit, why didn't I think of that?" "There's no way he can argue around that one." "Wow, wow!" "Hey, uh, I came just thinking about it. Did you? Anyone else? No? Hm."

  The green fairy standing next to Fée Galatea started to hop and clap. "I got it, I got it!" she cried. "Dirty talk contest! Whoever turns Dee on the most goes first!"

  "Good idea." "That'll work!" "Let's do it!" "Um, I still cum whenever I think about the whole 'getting fucked apart for the first time thirty-two times' thing. Maybe I should go first before I go, like, bugfuck nuts or something?"

  "I don't believe this," Dee muttered.

  Fée Galatea batted playfully at Dee's cock. "You love it," she said.

  "Yes, I love it," Dee said, leering, "but I still don't believe it."

  Dee heard the patter of tiny hands rapping against the driver side's rear door. "I made the phone call. The Galatea back at the apartment is just fine. What's goin' on? Don't make me go through the tailpipe again. Lemme in!"

  Galatea loosened her throat and the rubbery, peach-colored cock flopped out of her mouth. "It's not the same," she moaned, sagging back into the couch. She snatched up an empty bottle of Nyquil and filled it with a few feet of coiling tongue, searching out every last drop.

  "You should try it from this end," said Dee's voice. "It really sucks."

  "'Oo don' eefin thound wike him," Galatea lisped around the bobbling Nyquil bottle. "Not wealy."

  "This was your idea, if you care to recall," said Dee's voice. "I believe your exact words were: 'I'm tired of waiting for Dee.' Then, a couple hours later, you said, 'I'm sick and tired of eating pussy. How's 'bout we flip a coin, and the loser has to morph into Dee and do whatever the winner wants?'"

  "Thath a wittle bettah," Galatea lisped, "but it dothent make me wet." Her tongue rolled back between her lips and the bottle fell free. She stood up. "Maybe I should sit on your face?"

  The cartoony Dee clone, naked skin the color of a politically incorrect "flesh" crayon from the 1970s, tried to shrug, but it was hogtied to the coffee table with torn strips of bedclothes and doing its best to impersonate solidity. "Maybe we should talk," it suggested.

  Galatea wobbled over to the other end of the coffee table and braced the clone's head between her thighs. "What've we got to talk about?"

  "That's exactly my point," said the clone. "We—me and you, Galatea, I mean—don't ever just talk with Dee, do we? I don't mean talking dirty, or roleplaying, or warm fuzzies. Just talk."

  Galatea glowered down at it.

  "Is it because we don’t have anything to tell him," the clone said, "or is it because there's too much we want to tell him?"

  Galatea squeezed her knees shut, concaving the clone's jellified head into an hourglass shape. "Now you sound too much like Dee. He is such a girl, I swear," she grumbled, glaring at her fist as she shook it. "I mean, it's past nine o'clock already, and I bet he's still asking for foreplay with me in that stupid car. And he resisted fucking me for three days. Three days! He wanted nonstop foreplay for three whole days!"

  "It was a nightmare," the clone agreed, speaking in Galatea's voice this time, the peach souring into a pickled green. The clone slipped out of the restrains and fluffed up into full femininity. "And now he wants to fuck and fuck and have hours of foreplay. He's insatiable. Inhuman. Monsterous. He just wants more, and more, and more."

  Galatea knelt to give the clone a fierce bear hug. "I love it," they both sighed.

  Galatea and her duplicate spoke in an exchange so quick she had trouble figuring out who said what: "He's incredible." "He's unstoppable." "He's perfect." "She was right, he's the one." "He'd better be; if he's not, then the real one would kill me." "Do you think she learned anything at SRU?" "I hope so, I know so little, and there's so little time." "So what do we do?" "We tell him." "Now?" "No, but soon." "You're right, we need to move beyond sex first." "Dinners and movies and meeting the parents, stuff like that?" "Stuff like that, yes, but nothing so…so mortal." "You don't mean—" "Oh shit, he's back!"

  Keys rattled on the other side of the front door and the deadbolt slid back. A quick green oil slick seeped in between the door and the floor, congealed into a Thumbelina-sized green fairy and sprang into the air. She zipped into the living room, dragonfly wings blurring faster than a humming bird's, as the keys rattled and clicked into the doorknob. "Reassimilate. Now," the green fairy told Galatea. "Eat me. Now."

  "But," said the Galatea on the coffee table as the doorknob began to turn, "shouldn't we wait so Dee can watch—"

  "No," the tiny green fairy said, and zipped close. Galatea saw she was crying. The front door cracked open. "Now. You need to re-remember. Now."

  "What—" the standing Galatea said, but the green fairy flew into her open mouth, shouting, "Now!"

  Galatea swallowed the green fairy down as Dee came through the front door. The little fairy dissolved in an instant but it always took a few moments of concentration for the nanomek of two duplicates to reintegrate into a single web of mind and memory. Galatea waited for the flood of vivid flashbacks she called "re-remembering" until Dee stepped into the living room. She saw the haunted, unreadable expression on Dee's face and could not think of anything at all. He wore different cloth
es from when she saw him last, a weathered denim button-down and a pair of khaki pants. He held a long grey cardboard box in one hand and a crooked tire iron in the other.

  The duplicate on the table huddled close to Galatea. They exchanged worried glances and merged without any of Galatea's usual theatrical, kinky flair. "Dee," she whispered, wishing the memories would come, "what's wrong?"

  A full sized green fairy crept around Dee and took her by the hand. "He's leaving," she said.

  Galatea tore free of the fairy's grasp. "I don't want to remember," she said, stumbling back. "I don't want to remember!"

  "I don't think you have a choice. Fée remembers," he said, pointing with the bent tire iron. "It's already happened to her, to you. And you and I need to talk. No games, no lies. Just talk, right now, or I leave, right now."

  The green fairy reached for her again. "It's time," she said.

  Galatea fell into the couch. "No," she said, hands fluttering about her throat. "No, no, no, no."

  The green fairy turned to Dee. Dee pulled a balled-up piece of printer paper from a pocket of his leather jacket and handed it over. The green fairy smoothed it out, kissed it, and pressed it into one of Galatea's palms. Galatea looked down. Under the green lip-print, she saw a pencil sketched X, its thick, staggered curves swooping in a slight slant to evoke the impression of a dancer with arms upraised. She glanced at the very similar mark on her own left breast. "I don't understand," she said.

  The green fairy joined her on the couch. "You will," she said, sliding sideways into Galatea's gel like someone slipping into a heavy fur coat. "You will," the green fairy said again, and disappeared into Galatea, leaving only concentric rings rippling out from her chest.

  Galatea gasped—so much nanomek! More nanomek than ever before, more than she ever imagined could exist within her, swarmed and swam and rewove the web of her memory. Dee was right, she realized, as the overabundance of nanomek forced a cascade of flashbacks, I don't have a choice. She re-remembered a ferocious jealousy quickly replaced by such joy, such fulfillment, such happiness, and then an eternity of agonizing anticipation followed by so much amazing, mind-blowing sex that her mental web almost unraveled. He is the one, she thought.

  But the re-remembering continued, the flashbacks unspooling closer and closer to the present, and somewhere within her, the melancholy green fairy thought, He was the one.

  Don't believe in fear,

  Don't believe in faith,

  Don't believe in anything

  That you can't break.

  —Garbage, Stupid Girl

  Chapter Five: Both To Blame

  Fée Galatea saw little value in the virtues of patience. She tried to develop an appreciation of patience once, during Dee's blackout four days ago, but it took too damn long and she discovered how Dee could cum (and cum and cum) even while unconscious so she chose to put off developing a sense of patience until Dee's balls gave up the ghost, which they never did. Now that Dee had fucked her apart into itty bitty pieces for the first time, thirty three times over, she decided that good things cum to those who say "fuck this waiting shit—that's Mine, and I'm takin' it." But Dee did not want her to see her present until it was done and she had promised to wait in the car. Every hour of every day, he thinks up new ways to tantalize and tease me. My God, I love this man.

  Reassimilated into a petite but human sized pixie, Fée Galatea sat quietly in the passenger seat of the Volkswagen as Dee circled their destination, looking for a place to park, or rather the perfect place to park, since there was an open spot right in front of the damn place. "I need to find somewhere I can change clothes," he said. "It's not even eight o'clock, and I bet they're open all night."

  You magnificent bastard, Fée Galatea thought, as Dee milked this explanation to excuse driving by the place three times. First he drove past on the left, forcing her to bob and weave to get a peek at it through the driver's side window. On the return pass it was on her right so she got a long, slow look. On the final pass it was on the left again, and Fée Galatea just glared at him. Dee showed no awareness whatsoever of what he was doing to her. He only stared ahead, wearing the inscrutable smile he initially picked up from that lipstick lesbian Tomoe Exposition before improving it a hundredfold. You magnificent, tormenting bastard.

  Dee pulled into an unlit, rubbish cluttered alleyway a few blocks away from their destination, parking the Volkswagen against the chain link fence on the far end. He took the keys out of the ignition and picked up the plastic pouch containing his second set of clothes. "Oh, snookums," Galatea imagined him saying, "I didn't know you were going to sneak in and jump me in the car, I only took the precautions all us sensitive-enlightened-and-stuff types do. I was only thinking of you, because I wuuuv you so." Dee twisted some knob on the dash and the headlight's low beams snapped back on, powered by the car's battery. "Would you turn those off when I'm done?" he asked, stepped out of the car. "The battery's out of warranty and I had to jump start the car twice last week."

  "Huh?" said Fée Galatea, but he pecked her on the cheek, shut the door, and walked into the glow of the low beams. Oh my God, he's not wicked enough to do that, is he? He popped open the pouch and pulled out a washcloth before dropping it to the pavement. He is. Dee shrugged off his buttonless button-down and flipped it into a trash bin. He really, really is. Dee peeled out of the ruined undershirt. The white spotlight of the low beams highlighted every line and relief of a chest slick with baby oil—No, slick with me. The nanomek in her pussy went nuts at the thought and churned up a prickly heat between her legs. She gaped as Dee rubbed himself down with the washcloth, her core temperature rising. He turned his back to her and toweled off his arms, his shoulders working in strong rhythm. Keeping his back to her, he kicked off his jeans and ruined underwear, and set to clean up his crotch. Helpless to look away, she watched the cords in his neck flex and strain, the firm gel of her pussy melting into runny honey. And when Dee bent over to fish around in the pouch lying on the pavement, Fée Galatea, upper and nether lips gumming together, gurgled, "This man has got to be the biggest cunt tease on the face of the Earth."

  Dee turned back around and shimmied into a new pair of snug briefs that accentuated rather than concealed. Fée Galatea's eyes narrowed as the elastic band snapped over Dee's crotch. God damn it, he's made me jealous of a pair of underwear. Dee pulled a clean undershirt over his head and arms and down his chest. "That should be me," Fée Galatea sighed.

  Dee wrapped himself in a distressed denim shirt. "That should be me," Fée Galatea sighed again.

  Dee stepped into a pair of khaki pants. Fée Galatea groaned as he dragged them up over his legs and around his waist. "That really, really should be me," she whimpered, arching back, eyes shut tight, hands snaking down to sink into her sex, where they melted. He's made me so fucking hot I can't get myself off.

  "Honey," Dee called. Fée Galatea pulled her gluey eyelids open. Dee was buckling his belt, not even looking at her. "Would you turn off the headlights now?"

  She opened her mouth to scream but heard herself stammer, "O-okay." She pawed at the dashboard, too gooey to form fingers, coating the knobs and switches in thick green icing. The headlights flicked off.

  "Thanks," said Dee. His grin disappeared. "Hey, are you okay?"

  No, dumb ass, if it weren't for this bucket seat I'd be a puddle on the fucking floor. "Sure. Heh heh. No problem. Get goin'. See you, ah, when you get back." I hope you brought a few extra sets of emergency clothes, solid boy. You are soooo fucked when you get back.

  The New Moon night held no secrets from Fée Galatea. Her eyes lit with gem-fire, their scintillating clusters of nanomek going to work. Don't watch him walk away, at least have the willpower not to watch him walk—Oh who am I kidding, it's just too much fun. The nanomek clusters filtered out various spectra to give Galatea her favorite view of Dee's loping, instinctive strut. Especially in five dimensions.

  After a quick backward glance over his shoulder, Dee disappeared up the mai
n drag. Fée Galatea cranked down the passenger window and ramped up her olfactory input to bathe in the lingering scent of Dee's musk, a trace molecule cocktail of pheromone, sweat, homemade soap, spunk, and her own cum. She imaged herself stepping up to a podium: "My name is Galatea, and I'm a Deiter Detweiler addict. This is my first DDAA meeting." "Hello, Galatea. I'm Ursula. I spent hours making Dee soap with my bare hands but he never got the hint." "Hello, Galatea. I'm Tomoe. Dee made me cum at the sound of his voice, twice in a row, and he didn't even notice." "Hello, Galatea. I'm Strawberry Banana, and I'm gay for Dee. Or is that straight? Anyway, he only had to brush against my fingers and I almost bukkake'd all over myself. But, hey, at least with me, he got the fucking hint. Although, it was kind of hard to miss, you've got to admit." "And we're just the first three women you've ever met or heard about. How many more will there be? Just how big is the DDAA going to get if you keep doing what you're doing? You do know what you're doing, don't you?"

  Fée Galatea met her own frowning reflection in the rearview mirror. "I'm not doing anything." You sure 'bout that? Then at the very least you're letting things happen. That's a mighty fine distinction you're drawing, lady. "Do all women talk to themselves like this, or just the divisible ones?" Go fuck yourself.

  Her train of thought cooled her pussy down to a low, itching simmer, her liquefying gel retaining some definition again. "Don't mind if I do," she said, squelching both hands into her sex. She grew a third arm to give herself something to suck and chew on so she would not have to face the humiliation of talking dirty to herself. Whenever her pussy got attention—especially from Dee—it was as if her mouth got jealous and demanded to be full of flesh or it would fill itself with words, words, words. How can Dee be so silent when he fucks me? He just gasps and growls and grits those solid teeth or fills my mouth with his thick, delicious, solid tongue—oh God Dee fuck me, come back and fuck me! Fill me! Destroy me! Fuck me! Holy shit, I'm dirty-thinking.