Accidental Leigh

by James, Melanie

  Of course, I said yes and by that afternoon, I stopped by the address. The home was an old run-down Victorian house in a run-down neighborhood. The desk was sitting out on the porch with a little sign that said FREE. The desk was very small and very old, just as the lady said over the phone. It was made from wood and finished with a dark reddish stain. It was nothing more than four table legs and a square top that lifted open to keep a few things inside. There was a drawer on the underside that pulled out. I guess you could say it is more of an antique secretary’s desk because it was pretty small, at least smaller than I would imagine for an antique desk. Just big enough to use for a writing surface. Perfect for me, because I wouldn’t have to deal with having an argument with my cat over moving her carpeted towers and tunnels.

  I knocked on the door so that I could at least thank the lady, but nobody answered. Maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing. I couldn’t imagine the lady being any nicer in person than she was on the phone.

  Once I loaded it into the trunk of my car, I looked back at the house and caught a brief glimpse of someone watching me from an upstairs window. The curtain was yanked quickly closed and although it was strange to me, I was happy to have found my little desk.

  I made a nice little writing nook in my apartment. I placed the desk in the appropriate spot so that I would be able to look out the window. I imagined myself lost in fantasy, hammering out one best-seller after another. I had fun setting up my work space with as much inspirational décor as possible. You know, the girly stuff you pick up at any bookstore or gift shop. The sad thing was, that’s where it all stayed, untouched until the end of the school year. Well, not exactly. My furry black cat, Luna, decided I had extended her playground by adding a nice little perch under the window. It also provided her with yet another set of scratching posts for sharpening her claws. Still, she scowled at me. My cat scowls, she can be such a bitch!

  Now my summer break had arrived and I started on my characters. I needed to continue the theme of what I was reading, with a twist. Payback against werewolves. Any aspiring writer will probably tell you the same thing, names are hard to come up with. The werewolf I was writing about needed something, but since nothing came to mind, I just used Harry as a temporary name. It was one that would be easy to go back and change. I would assume most werewolves are somewhat hairy and Harry seemed as good as anything else at the time. I wanted him to fall madly in love with Beatrice, who happens to be the name of the author that killed my beloved Vlad. I had every intention of putting both of those characters through hell, eventually.

  My first evening of writing was going to be fun. My muse, a bottle of chardonnay, plied me with a heavy hand toward the erotic. My fingers tickled my keyboard and a very naughty story glided across the monitor. It’s one thing to read something titillating and erotic and quite another thing to actually write it. As a writer, you are dead certain as soon as you explore your kinkiest fantasies in a book, everyone in your life is going to find out that you wrote it. That is exactly the reason for the chardonnay and plenty of it. On that fateful night, the chardonnay won out against my inhibition. When I stopped, I left a chapter of my very erotic paranormal romance story to simmer for a day or two.

  Sunday morning, I woke up to a very disturbing phone call. Any time my mother calls, it is most likely disturbing, but this time it was bad… really bad!

  “Hi, Mom.” I’m sure that I sounded flat and tired.

  “Hello, Leigh. I just wanted to let you know that your father is in the hospital.”

  “Daddy? My God, what happened?” I was instantly thrown into shock. I was really pissed off that my mother called with such news, yet still kept on with her matter-of-fact style. Let me put it this way, I could envision her talking to me. She was a geriatric version of the old school TV sitcom mom character. She had been a stay at home wife all of her life, in a neat little ranch house, on a nice little street in Skokie. She was certainly wearing a neat dress, some gaudy costume jewelry and taking her glasses off, then on, then off. She did it for effect during a conversation. I thought it was weird that she did it even while on the phone. I could just imagine her pulling off her glasses right after saying my Dad was in the hospital, or as she would call him, my father.

  “He received an electrical shock, which caused him to fall. He ended up with a concussion. They just wanted him to stay overnight to be sure he was fine. He’ll be home today.”

  “Electrocuted? What was he doing?”

  “Well dear, your father asked me if I would like to go out for dinner Saturday night. We went to the restaurant inside the Marriot. Leigh, I don’t know what got into us. We were just not ourselves.” She actually gasped, but it was like she was excited and maybe bragging a little.

  “What do you mean, Mom?”

  “Well, it was very romantic. Before you know it, I kicked my shoes off and I was getting your father aroused with my feet!”

  “Mom! My God, I do not want to know what freaky stuff you and daddy do!”

  “Well, it isn’t that bad. Your father did the most romantic thing ever. After we were done with our meal, he got a room for us.”

  “Why?” I think I was scowling like my cat at that point. “You guys live maybe fifteen minutes from there. Were you both drunk?”

  “No, he just wanted to have a little change in atmosphere, I guess. I think he was actually role playing.”

  “What? Role playing? What the hell was he doing? Are you sure he didn’t have a stroke or something?”

  “Oh no, we went up to the room and he was just wild. Like an animal and it’s so very unlike him, dear. When we had sex, he howled and said he was going to shift, I suppose that was very odd, but I assumed he meant to say he was going to cum.”

  “Oh my God, Mom! Please stop! How can you even tell me these things?” My mind was spinning and my brain needed to be bleached. This entire story sounded vaguely familiar, then it became crystal clear. This was just how my fictional characters had behaved in the scene I was writing.

  “Well, he went to get up from the bed and he knocked over the lamp. He reached to grab it and put his finger right in the broken light socket. He just fell over and flopped around a little.”

  “But, he’s OK though, right?”

  “Yes, he’s fine. As a matter of fact, he was making calls from the hospital this morning. He called the contractors that put the new roof on the garage last month. I guess he wants to let them know how much he appreciated their hard work, because he invited them over for a cookout in two weeks. You should really come down and visit for that weekend, Leigh. Those young men are about your age and I don’t mind telling you that they are in great shape and very attractive.”

  “Mom!” Suddenly, I started to see that there was something strange going on. Not the fact that my Dad decided to throw together a cookout for some roofers, no, this was way too close to what I had written.

  “Mom, let me call you back on that. Are you sure that inviting those guys to a cookout is a good idea? I mean, they are basically strangers.”

  I was getting worried. I hung up and grabbed my laptop from the desk. I looked over what I had completed on my story so far. Harry had taken his one true love Beatrice out for an elegant dinner that included nothing less than a foot job. “Holy shit!” I yelled to my cat. My horny characters got a luxury room that included, of course, a hot sex scene. Can you see the coincidence here? What did Harry say when he released his hot seed with a violent thrust from his rock hard shaft into the moist folds of his beloved? He howled and shouted, “I’m shifting.” Which just happened to be at the height of his climax, before he shifted into a werewolf. “Oh shit!” I was a little relieved when I realized I didn’t write anything about Harry getting electrocuted. Then, I saw the sentence. Harry could feel the spark between them and it electrified his passion. “Awe shit.”

  I had a problem. A big problem. Three werewolf hunters were about to break down the door to the room, chain Harry to a chair with silver, and f
orce him to watch in horror as they completely dominated Beatrice in every forceful way you can imagine. The thing is, the evil Beatrice enjoyed tormenting her poor werewolf.

  Somehow, I had magically made my parents literally reenact the steamy scene from my story, sans werewolf, a complete cuckhold gangbang was about to occur. “Oh my God!” I saw the wild and shameless scene of debauchery flash in my head. I cringed at the thought of my father getting tied up and gagged while watching my mother as she enjoyed being double penetrated by three porn star roofers. After I was done throwing up, I knew this was exactly what would happen at my parents little garden party in two weeks, and I had to prevent it. This was all my fault. But how? That is exactly what I am still trying to figure out.

  Chapter Three

  What Are Friends For?

  Of course, at first, I suspected that someone had gotten to my story. I imagined ninjas dressed in black creeping through my windows. Then I realized that today’s ninjas were hackers. Scratch the stealthy ninjas and bring on the creepy guy living in his parent’s basement. There were probably empty soda cans and depleted bags of pork rinds scattered on the floor like peanut shells at a suburban cowboy steakhouse. That whole theory was impossible, since my laptop hasn’t connected to the internet in months. Most likely it had to be the cat, but rather than confront her, I decided I would call on an expert.

  My best friend, and marginally qualified high school English teacher, Kelly, might be able to help me to figure this out. Thankfully, she didn’t possess half the fear of my psychotic cat that I did. When I say I’m afraid of my cat, it’s because I have a good reason to be. I often wake up during the night to her growling at me. Some cats purr, some cuddle and knead, mine growls and hisses.

  Kelly came by the apartment and I was relieved to have someone to talk to about what had happened. After I retold the entire story of my naughty writing and subsequent conversation with my mom, I eagerly awaited her advice.

  “OK, Leigh, so let me get this straight. You think that everything you wrote, somehow wrote the future for what happened to your parents?”

  “I think so, yeah. I don’t know how it happened. I think my cat had something to do with it.”

  “Your cat. Your cat?” She said as her eyebrows arched. “You do realize how ridiculous that sounds, don’t you?”

  “You don’t understand, Kelly. Luna is possessed. Once, when I was out of her treats, I came home without stopping at the store. She knew. She knew I didn’t feel like stopping just for cat treats. She sat there and growled at me all evening. When I tried to pet her that night, she bit me! She actually drew blood! I still have the scar to prove it! I actually locked my bedroom door that night. And she is always acting very weird, spooky weird.”

  “Well, for now, let’s concentrate on why this happened to your parents and not to some total strangers. Isn’t your Dad’s name Harold?”

  “Ah! Why didn’t I think of that! Yes, my Dad’s name is Harold and Harry was the name of my character. The female character is Beatrice. My mom’s name is Elizabeth though, so- oh shit! She has always gone by Elizabeth, but that is her middle name. Her first name is Beatrice. Oh my God, I need a shrink. Ugh! I wrote a paranormal erotica scene starring my parents. I bet a therapist could make a career out of that little issue.”

  “OK. Take it easy, Leigh. Let’s assume that you stumbled on some magic. So why not put it to the test?”

  “The test? What are you talking about and how exactly do I put it to the test?” I was bitchy and irritated. I should have realized my parents’ names on my own, but Christ! To me my parents will always be Mom and Dad, not Beatrice and Harry, even if that’s who they really are!

  “Before you tinker around with your story any more, try a different story or idea. Do the same process as before, but a different story with different people. Make sure it’s someone we know and you have to follow the steps exactly the same as you did before.”

  “That’s a great idea. Who do you have in mind?”

  “Hmm, well who do you know that is really deserving of having a fantasy fulfilled?”

  I was quick to answer Kelly, considering that the two of us were perpetually single. “Me and you! But- do you really want to take a leap like that? Experimenting on ourselves? What guys would we choose? What if we end up with complete losers? I know I’m not ready to set up some weird fantasy on myself. What if things go really, really bad? Nope. Not me. I don’t think either of us are ready for something like that until we have a handle on this. Whatever this is.”

  “I’ve got it, Leigh! OK, so your sister is married. Why don’t you write up a little romantic evening for the two of them? No paranormal, no BDSM, nothing kinky, just a good old fashioned love scene that ends up with incredible all night sex. What do you say? I bet it would do them some good.”

  “Sounds safe, but how will we know if it worked out like I wrote it?”

  “Trust me, Leigh, no woman is going to have a night like that and not brag about it. You won’t be able to shut her up! I guarantee, you will get a call the next morning.”

  “Ha! This could be fun. Still, I don’t know if it will even work. If it does work, then it means that this whole thing isn’t some strange coincidence and I will have to figure out why it is happening.”

  “Well, you have two weeks to figure it out. I have to run, but I’ll check on you tomorrow. If this works… I’m next on the list. I haven’t gotten laid in so long that I’ve been considering ordering one of those male mannequins with the interchangeable parts.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Yeah, they have these foam or plastic mannequins you can order now. They come with interchangeable parts, you know what I mean? You can literally pick your size and hook’em up. Ride’em cowgirl! They even come equipped with a rubber tongue.” Kelly attempted to flick her tongue with an obscene lapping motion that made me wince when I pictured her awkwardly trying to squat over a plastic head with a rubber tongue flailing about.

  “Jesus Christ, Kelly, now you’ve gone too far! Although, if you decide to try the rubber tongue man, you should record it for the next episode of America’s Desperate Videos. You could become an internet sensation. Although, you might lose your job teaching.” I would have to file this information away for use at a later date. I might need to get one of those mannequins for myself, now that my fantasies of my dear Vlad was crushed to bits. Need I even mention, how long it’s been since I’ve had sex? I wondered if my hymen could have grown back. Yeah, it’s been that long! “Do they really have ones with animatronic mouth parts?”

  “Who knows? You know, I have my cousin Tim’s wedding reception that I’ve been invited to. It promises to be a complete bore. Although, one of the groomsman is a doctor and I’ve always had a dirty little doctor-patient fantasy.”

  Kelly’s encouraging words set aside any doubts I had. I set out to create a lovely, yet romantic evening for my dear unsuspecting sister, Sarah, and her utterly boring, and predictable husband, Bill. I wrote a nice romantic dinner date that followed up with a throbbing, earth shattering, and passion filled night for them. My sister had been married for eight years and already they had three kids that seemed to be sucking the joy and energy from her, like squalid feral baby vampires.

  Whatever masculinity Bill had started with on their wedding day, had been relinquished at the altar. A career in banking scraped away any remnant of youth and sealed his fate. Sarah’s days were consumed with juggling the myriad needs of two toddlers and a baby. I know she loves them, but I wonder if she ever sees her children carelessly drooling, vomiting, and defecating on the residue of her hopes and dreams. My poor sister and her husband seemed like they were willing unpaid participants in a chronic fatigue experiment gone horribly wrong. If anyone deserved a night of steamy, no-holds-barred passion, it was her and Bill.

  I kept it fun and exciting, trying desperately to think of them solely as fictitious characters. I wanted Bill and Sarah to truly feel the th
ings you can only read about, the normal things that is. It seemed a little weird at first using their names. I had to separate myself from the idea that this was my sister and her husband I was writing about. The only way to do that was for me to imagine completely different people that just so happened to share the names of Sarah and Bill.

  Romance and Dinner

  The dinner was fantastic, but it was nothing compared to the dessert that Sarah had planned for Bill. She had already prepared their bedroom in anticipation of the night’s adventures. Sarah excused herself from the cozy candlelit dining room and then reappeared on the staircase wearing a sexy black negligée that left little to Bill’s imagination. She aroused him by exposing one leg and running her fingers slowly up the inside of her thigh. She silently motioned for him to approach by beckoning him with her come-hither finger. He was throbbing with excitement and eagerly padded up the stairs after her. He passionately kissed her like he had never done before. Their tongues danced in each other’s mouths and Bill impulsively picked her up and carried her to the bed. His rock hard passion wand was burning hot, but he wanted her to enjoy the experience of his tongue sliding across her soft folds and exploring her moist core. He wanted her to finally feel what it would be like to be awash in multiple orgasms while she firmly grasped his hair and pushed his face down to where she wanted him.

  That was all I managed to type. How could I write a spectacular love scene when I, the writer, couldn’t even stay awake long enough to do it? But it had been a long day for me and I dozed off before I could add any more to it. At three in the morning, I was woken up from my slouched over position on my desk by Luna’s needle sharp claws piercing the skin on my leg.

  “God damn cat!” I yelled at her. When she did things like this, I often contemplated returning her to the shelter where I adopted her. Sadly, no matter how much I bitched about Luna, I still loved the little freak. There were those few blissful moments where she was actually affectionate and that seemed to make it all worth it- most of the time!