Sinking down on her knees in front of me, she took a sip from the glass, staring at me wide-eyed over the rim. Then she placed the glass gently in my hand and rested her chin on my knee, without removing her eyes from mine.
I tried to drink, but I could hardly swallow. I hadn't the slightest idea what was in the glass. I put the glass down on the tray and it tipped over, spilling. Neither of us glanced at it. I bent my head down over hers, searching for her lips, while my hands went down over her body.
"Oh, Drew," she whispered, as my lips found hers. "My darling . . . you're so — so handsome. . ."
I jerked my head away and stood up, knocking her to her hands and knees.
"Darling!" she cried. "Tell me what's wrong?"
"Don't call me handsome!" I snarled. "I'm not handsome and you know it! That — that damned spell is making you say that. You're blinded and you don't really see me! If you did you'd turn away in disgust-just like everyone else!"
She scrambled frantically to her feet. Her robe was hanging from one arm and her hair was tumbled about her face. There were tears in her eyes.
"Oh, my darling!" she sob bed, trying to put her arms around me. "What did I do that was wrong? I do love you so — I do!"
I grabbed her wrists and stared into her eyes, trying to see the truth. "But is it me you love — me, me — Andrew Benedict, not some dream image?"
She was weeping now. "Yes, yes! Of course it's you! You're so handsome, so virile, so witty, so — so —wonderful! There's no one else in the — "
I cursed wildly and pushed her away. She fell to the floor, sobbing pitifully. I took one despairing look at her and strode from the room. I could hear her wailing my name as I forced the hall door open. Only when I slammed the door behind me was her voice cut off.
I staggered down the corridor and into my own apartment. I fell into a chair, and then the tears came to my own eyes.
I had been cheated again!
Diane was irresistibly attracted to me, all right — but not to me, not to the ugly, uncouth, disgusting slob I knew I was. When she looked at me, she saw a handsome, suave, fascinating man of the world. The kind of man who always took advantage of me, and who always would. The kind of man who had everything, when I would always have nothing. When she kissed me, she was really kissing him. It was worse agony than being ignored, than being laughed at.
Diane didn't want me. She wanted a debonair, witty, heman. The spell had made her think she saw all that in me. Making love to her would be about as pleasurable as making love to a woman who had been hypnotized into thinking you were her husband. I had lost all desire for Diane. Her body had become a Dead Sea fruit for me. Diane didn't want me.
I had been wrong. I had answered too quickly and I had made the wrong wish. I didn't want a woman to find me irresistible; I wanted a woman to want me — to want me — with all my faults and all my ugliness.
Nobody wanted me — nobody ever had.
I noticed my telephone suddenly. No, I was wrong. Somebody did want me, after all.
And would get me.
THE END
About the Author
Solomon Scheele- No bibliographic data currently available
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I Want You, I Want You Page 2