Body Rides

by Richard Laymon

  Ah-ha! Neal thought. Karen! She must be Karen. Nobody’d go around giving herself a fake name in her own fantasies.

  ‘Hello, Karen,’ Neal said into her mind, though he knew she couldn’t hear him. ‘My name’s Neal. Nice to meet you.’

  Fat lousy chance, Karen thought, startling him.

  Did she hear me?

  No, she was still involved with Tom, but her fantasy had gone a bit sour with the intrusion of a cynical part of her mind. Never gonna meet a guy like that. If he’s that handsome, he’s already taken, or he’s gay. Or he’s a total jerk who thinks he’s God’s gift to the universe. Or else he is perfect, in which case he won’t give me a second glance.

  She stepped through a doorway, flicked a light switch, and squinted in the sudden brightness. She had entered her bedroom. Turning around, she shut the door. On its back was a full-length mirror. She stopped and looked at her reflection.

  Not too bad.

  Not bad at all, Neal thought. This was the best view he’d had of Karen so far. She was prettier than he recalled. She wasn’t as heavy, either. No skinny super-model type, but still a long way from chunky. She had fairly broad shoulders, and . . .

  Neal’s view of Karen disappeared. For a few moments, all he could see was the white of her T-shirt.

  When the shirt no longer blocked his view, Karen was twisting sideways to toss it underhand toward her bed.

  She wore nothing at all.

  Holy smoking Toledo! Neal thought.

  She looked at herself in the mirror, and shook her head.

  Spectacular! Neal thought.

  Could be worse, thought Karen, and wondered how many pounds she might be able to lose before next weekend.

  She turned away from the mirror.

  Shit! Neal thought. ‘Don’t go away! Gimme a break! Please!’

  His disappointment quickly faded. Though he could no longer see Karen in the mirror, he enjoyed the feel of the air on her bare skin, and the moving weight of her breasts as she walked across her room. She stopped in front of her dresser.

  If none of these fit, I’m gonna just kill myself.

  The words in her mind were an exaggeration.

  She knew that she’d gained weight since last summer, but she had also been working out. Her swimsuits might or might not fit, but she felt fairly confident that she would look better than usual on the beach this year.

  She almost hoped they would be too small for her. That way, she’d have a good reason to go shopping.

  Crouching a bit, she bent over at the waist and reached for the handles of the bottom drawer. Her breasts pulled downward, swaying slightly.

  Neal moaned, but heard nothing.

  This is so fantastic, he thought.

  Karen wasn’t overly impressed by her naked body, but she did like the feel of the air on her skin, especially where it felt cool in the heat under her arms and between her legs.

  In the drawer were several swimsuits. She wanted nothing to do with most of them. Pushing a couple aside, she spotted her white bikini. She took it out and stood up. Leaving the drawer open, she turned around and walked toward the mirror.

  Neal watched Karen approach her reflection, watching herself.

  Her arms swung by her sides, the bikini clamped in her right hand. Her breasts jiggled and bounced a bit. Her nipples stuck out. Neal could feel the air on them. He wished he could put his mouth on them.

  But he could only look.

  Stopping a few paces from the mirror, Karen separated the two pieces of her bikini. Eyes on the skimpy pants, she bent over and spread the elastic waist band. Then she raised her head.

  Yes! Neal thought.

  Head up, she watched her mirror image. It showed her bent low at the waist, gazing at herself. Her nose was wrinkled to keep her glasses high. A sweep of shiny brown hair draped her brow. Her arms were stretched straight down, breasts suspended between them.

  She raised one foot and stepped into the bikini pants, then raised the other.

  She was concerned. Not only too fat, but I’ve got no damn tan at all. It’s July already! The ninth? Tenth? And look at me. I can’t go to the beach like this.

  As she unbent to pull up her pants, Neal could see all the way up her legs, to where they joined. He glimpsed a thatch of brown curls, and lips like the puffy edges of a gash. Then the wispy nylon came in underneath snug against her crotch and buttocks. When she let go, the elastic hugged her like a soft cord.

  Karen looked down at herself.

  Could be worse. Have to remember to shave, though. Good Lord – if I ever get one any smaller, there won’t be any point.

  She raised her head. The front of the pants appeared even smaller in the mirror. From the corners of the patch, elastic strips stetched upward over her hip bones. Turning, she looked over her shoulder. The strips slanted down behind her, where they kept the seat of her pants stretched taut against her buttocks. The sides of her cheeks were bare.

  She wiggled her rear end, watched it shimmy, and wished it was firm with hollow cheeks.

  Ah, well. Can’t have everything. Not bad, as buns go.

  ‘Lovely, as buns go,’ Neal told her with his mind, though he knew she couldn’t hear him. ‘Not to mention, you’ve got fabulous tits.’

  Neal suddenly felt ashamed of himself for the tit remark.

  Nice going, he thought. Very nice.

  What’s the big deal? he asked himself. She doesn’t know what I’m thinking. Hasn’t got a clue.

  That makes it okay?

  What am I doing in here? he wondered. I’m no better than a Peeping Tom. Worse than a Peeping Tom. I get to spy on her thoughts, too. And her feelings.

  The bikini top still dangling from her right hand, Karen arched her back and sucked in her belly. She gazed at her profile.

  Still got great boobs. A shame nobody gets to see them but me. I oughta find a nude beach somewhere.

  Yeah, right.

  Like I want a bunch of strange men drooling over me. Bet they’d really be strange, too, at a place like that. Perverts. A bunch of lechers hanging around with their whangs in the breeze.

  She saw the scene in her mind.

  To Neal, the nudist lechers looked like they’d just escaped from a home for scrawny lunatics.

  Then the crowd dispersed, and only one man remained. He was especially cadaverous and ugly. Neal realized this was how Rasputin might look, beardless and naked.

  Whose fantasy is this? he wondered.

  Has to be Karen’s.

  She felt sick inside as he strolled toward her. Grinning, he grabbed his limp member, lifted it, and waved it at her like a snake. ‘Say hi to Monty,’ he said.

  Karen grimaced at herself in the mirror.

  Monty? Where on earth did I dig up a name like that? Never even known a guy named Monty. Much less a dick.

  She shook her head and laughed. The horrible images faded, but she still felt a little uneasy because of them.

  ‘Monty the dick,’ she said aloud, but softly. Neal liked her voice. ‘I’d better find me a guy fast, I’m losing my marbles. And now I’m talking to myself. Talking to myself and daydreaming about . . .’

  ‘Penises,’ she finished the thought in silence. ‘Too long since I’ve been around any.’

  A memory suddenly filled Karen’s mind. She was on a bed in a sunlit room, stretched out on her back, a man on all fours above her. His name was Darren. She knew that, though she couldn’t see his face. She could only see his belly, and sometimes his penis. His thing, that’s what she always called it. Mostly, his thing was out of sight, hidden between her breasts. It felt enormous, hot and very hard.

  Darren loved her breasts, so she was giving him a special treat. First, she had instructed him to rub oil on them. When they were slippery, she’d rolled onto her back and guided Darren onto her. Then she’d used both hands to push her breasts together and trap his thing.

  Facing the mirror, Karen shook her fingers. The bikini top fell from them, brushed the side
of her calf and dropped silently against the carpet.

  She took hold of her breasts and pushed them together. Rubbed them against each other.

  They felt a little slippery with sweat.

  Not as slippery as they’d felt with Darren, though.

  Concentrating, she tried to feel his thing.

  Thick and long, sliding in and out of the crevice between her breasts. Rubbing up and down, sometimes plunging downward so deep it nudged her sternum. Other times sliding forward until its glistening head came squeezing out, inches from her mouth, like a wiener popping out of its bun.

  ‘Next time, we’ll use mustard.’

  She’d actually said that to Darren. But there hadn’t been a next time.

  Karen suddenly parted her breasts, clutched them by the front and squeezed, digging in her fingernails. Hard enough to hurt.

  But the pain from her breasts was nothing compared to the agony crushing her heart.

  She dropped to her knees, sobbing wildly.

  Oh my God! Neal thought. What’s going on? What’s the matter with her?

  He fled.

  Eighteen

  In his own body again, Neal found himself squirming on his back, breathless and sweaty. He swung his legs off the mattress. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he tried to calm down.

  Horrible to see Karen go crazy like that, he thought. What the hell had gone wrong? She’d lost Darren, obviously. Lost him in a way that had done major damage to her. Did he get himself killed, or just dump her?

  Go back and find out?

  No thanks, he told himself.

  Maybe she’s over the tantrum, by now.

  Neal didn’t want to take the chance.

  Poor gal, he thought. Jeez.

  Being inside her had been wonderful for a while, though.

  Wonderful? Spectacular!

  My God, she stripped right in front of me!

  He gazed at the bracelet on his wrist.

  No wonder Elise warned me about getting hooked on it. I can go to anyone I want, get inside, watch her undress, take a bath, make love. But I don’t just get to look, I get to feel everything she feels.

  Incredible, Neal thought. Literally unbelievable. Way too good to be true.

  He couldn’t believe it was true, but neither could he find a way to deny it. The bracelet didn’t bestow vivid dreams or fantasies, it allowed you to enter actual people. Which he knew to be impossible.

  Impossible. But he was absolutely certain that, if he ran down to his car and drove to his own neighborhood and located Karen’s apartment, he would be able to meet her in the flesh.

  I must be out of my mind, he thought as he drove. He’d been thinking that, every so often, ever since the idea had popped into his head.

  He knew he shouldn’t do it.

  Karen was not likely to appreciate a surprise visit from a stranger in the middle of the night.

  And Neal felt as if he were cheating on Marta.

  Not that he expected or wanted anything romantic to happen with Karen. He’d be lucky if she even opened her door for him, and the odds of being allowed into her apartment were slim to none.

  So why am I doing this? he wondered.

  Just to see. Just to see what I can find. See how reality matches up. If I can at least get a glimpse of her . . .

  I don’t need a glimpse. I know how reality will match up. Perfectly, that’s how. This is bullshit.

  But I want to do it.

  I am doing it.

  I must be out of my mind.

  A few minutes after driving away from the curb in front of Marta’s building, he drove past his own building. He turned the corner, then entered the alley. He drove slowly. The area ahead looked clear: nobody skulking about. Nobody that he could see, anyway. No scavenger creeping along behind a shopping cart, no Creeper sneaking through the shadows in his slouch hat and cape. No Rasputin.

  He wondered where Rasputin might be.

  As he drove by his own parking space at the rear of his building, he slowed and almost stopped.

  I could just run up and check, he thought. If the bastard’s there, I can blow him away . . .

  Maybe later.

  Maybe never.

  I’ve gotta get him before he gets me, Neal told himself.

  Yeah, but this isn’t the time to try it. He’s not there, anyway.

  Make a run-through with the bracelet?

  I didn’t come here for that. I came to check on Karen.

  He kept on driving, but felt guilty about it. He knew that he ought to visit his own place. If he stayed away from it, how could he ever hope to get the jump on Rasputin?

  I’ll try it later, he told himself. But first things first. Make this reality check on the bracelet, and then I’ll know for sure.

  I already know for sure.

  No, I don’t. Not a hundred per cent. This will be the final proof. Then I’ll never doubt it again.

  He drove on past another building. The next was probably Karen’s. Its parking spaces were full. He pulled forward so he wouldn’t block them, swung close to the edge of the alley, then stopped. He killed the headlights and shut off the engine.

  Then he climbed out of his car and walked to the other side of the alley. From there, he looked up at the stucco wall.

  Is that it? he wondered.

  He’d gone through Karen’s wall by accident, really, after an emergency swerve to avoid plunging into the bum.

  This looked like the wall.

  Glancing from side to side, he tried to judge the distance back to his apartment building, then from where he now stood to the place where he’d seen the bum with the shopping cart.

  The distances seemed about right.

  And Karen’s apartment was definitely not in the next building down. That place had balconies above the alley. There’d been no balcony on the wall he’d entered.

  This has to be it, he decided.

  Walking toward the rear gate of the building, he felt a strong mixture of dread and excitement. He had come on purpose, planning to pay a visit to Karen. But he was shocked, anyway, to find himself here. A strange but somewhat familiar sensation. He knew it from . . .

  Amusement parks. Disneyland, Knott’s Berry Farm, Magic Mountain, Funland, the Santa Cruz Boardwalk. It had happened to Neal in all those places, at one time or another.

  You get into line for a thrill ride – one of the scary kind that takes you way too high and drops you way too fast. You stand in the line on purpose, planning to take the ride. Wanting to take the ride. But suddenly, there is no more line in front of you. You’re next. And you suddenly realize the time is now and you’ve made a very large mistake.

  You get a tightness in your chest and you want to cry out, ‘What am I doing here? Let me outa here!’

  That was exactly the way Neal felt as he opened the rear gate, stepped through it, and shut it so gently that it didn’t make a sound.

  Why don’t I just turn back? he told himself This is nuts. What if she shoots me or something?

  He never turned back from the rollercoasters, either. Or from the huge and terrifying Ferris wheels. Not since being a grown-up. There was excitement along with the fear, and he always stepped aboard.

  He glanced about as he made his way toward the stairs. This courtyard had no pool. A parklike area, instead: a lawn with bushes and trees, walkways, quaint lamp posts, and even a few picnic tables. It seemed rather old-fashioned and peaceful.

  He saw no one.

  He climbed the stairs slowly, quietly. His legs were shaking.

  It’ll be all right, he thought. I’m not doing anything wrong.

  I know that. The cops won’t know that, though. Nobody who sees me sneaking around will know that. I oughta get out of here before something happens.

  Try not to look suspicious, he told himself.

  At this hour? Fat chance.

  Walk straight to her door as if you belong here.

  The door nearest the top of the stairs was numbered 26.
Neal realized that he didn’t know Karen’s apartment number, but 26 seemed to be located in the proper place – the northeast corner of the building, its rear wall facing the alley.

  Off to the right of the door was a large picture window. No light came through it. Neal remembered Karen turning off the living room lamp before heading for her bedroom in the rear.

  He wondered if she was still in her bedroom. Still kneeling on the floor in nothing but her bikini pants, hurting herself and crying her head off?

  Who knows?

  Not all that much time had gone by since Neal had left her there. Five minutes? Maybe a little more than that. Fewer than ten, though.

  Halting in front of the door, he took a deep breath.

  Oh, man, he thought. Gotta be out of my mind.

  He rapped the door gently with his knuckles. A quick, furtive series of five taps, hopefully loud enough to be heard by Karen but not so loud as to alarm any of her neighbors.

  At this hour, he thought, any knock is alarming.

  He waited. No sound came from her apartment.

  Had she heard him? Was she cowering on her bedroom floor, listening, fear spreading through her?

  Give it one more try. Make it sound nice and friendly.

  He rapped on the door again, five times and gently like before.

  Then he waited again.

  She’s not coming, he decided. Either couldn’t hear me, or she’s scared and hoping I’ll go away. Or maybe she’s calling the cops.

  I oughta blow it outa here.

  One last shot, then I’ll go.

  He spoke one word softly to the door. ‘Karen?’

  A moment later, her voice came. Little more than a whisper, it sounded as if she assumed he must be a friend. ‘Who is it?’

  ‘My name’s Neal. I’m an old friend of Darren’s. He used to talk about you. All the time. I always wanted to meet you, Karen, and . . . I know it’s horrible to drop in on you like this. I mean, this late. But he said you’re sort of a night owl, anyway, and . . . I’m driving down from San Francisco. I have to be in San Diego in the morning. I just thought I’d stop by for a minute, since I was sort of passing through the area, anyway.’