Your Wish Come True revised Chapter 22 Good Grief
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Your Wish Come True (revised): Chapter 2 - A Change Of Mind free porn video
Your Wish Come True
by Pol Roger
Chapter 2
A Change of Mind
Derek has a strange day
DEREK finished showering and dressed for work in his usual uniform of
dark suit, white shirt and sober striped tie. He drank a quick cup of
tea before putting some slices of bread in the toaster. He turned on the
TV and watched the morning news as he ate his toast. After putting the
few dishes in the dishwasher to be washed later he walked briskly to
Gloucester Road underground station, buying a paper as he went.
He arrived at the platform just as his train pulled in and got on with
the usual crowded bustle. There was room to stand not too far from the
doorway.
He looked around idly at the other passengers in the compartment. His
eyes met those of a young mother seated with a toddler on her knee just
a few feet away. He gave a friendly smile to both of them, and she
smiled back.
At the next station a man got up and he took his seat. He started to
read the paper he had bought, looking briefly at the main news stories
and then the letters page. Tuesday morning's edition always had a
fashion spread, which caught his eye as he admired one of the models.
But he found himself reading the accompanying article closely,
discovering that it was, unexpectedly, really quite interesting.
He studied the pictures of the clothes carefully, taking particular
notice of the accessories: shoes, bags, little touches and trims. He
found himself commenting inwardly as he studied the pictures with such
thoughts as "that's an unusual combination, but it looks great," or "I
see what he's trying to do, but that makeup spoils the whole effect." He
took note of the names of the designers. He'd watch out for more of
these sorts of stories.
This is fun, he thought, rather surprised.
His trip took about twenty minutes with a change at Monument, walking to
the adjacent Bank tube station to catch the Central Line to Chancery
Lane station near where he worked in the City. Carlton and Carlton was a
small firm by City standards, but it was an old and prestigious one.
Somehow it had avoided being absorbed or amalgamated into larger
conglomerates like most of the other long-standing London legal
practices.
He headed briskly for the exit and walked quickly down the busy footpath
towards his office. He still felt hungry so he stopped and bought a bar
of chocolate on the way; "Yum! Good chocolate!" he thought as he gulped
it down. He headed into the lobby of the building where his law firm was
situated and took the lift up to his floor.
He always said good morning to Penny the secretary as he passed her desk
on his way through but this morning he stopped. She looked nice in a
black skirt which came to just above her knees, and matching jacket.
"Nice earrings," he said. Each one had a large turquoise and tiny coral
bead dropping from rosettes of antiqued sterling silver. He analysed
them swiftly. "They bring out the colour of your eyes," he added as he
turned to continue.
"Why, thank you Mr Ross," Penny answered. "That's just what I was hoping
for. You're the first person who's said anything so far." She beamed at
him as if he'd offered her a salary rise.
Derek was already walking away. "Do I know anything about jewellery?" he
wondered. "Anyway, the are nice earrings. And nice eyes." He glanced
back briefly to see that Penny was still looking at him. He smiled and
she smiled back broadly.
THE day was a very strange one. He just didn't seem himself. He seemed
to be disorganised and a bit light-headed. At his first appointment for
the day he had no sooner sat down than he announced rather cheerily,
"Oops, wrong file! Back in a tick," and gave them a sweet smile. The
clients didn't seem to mind too much, and returned his smile.
Derek felt he normally exuded an air of competence and quiet efficiency,
and he was aware that he was failing to achieve this today. He knew that
in several remarks and slips he made he must be appearing unprofessional
but he didn't actually feel embarrassed at all. It just seemed rather
funny.
He was usually very formal and businesslike with clients, but today he
was friendly and charming, complimenting the women on their clothes or
hair or makeup, making time to chat. He found himself listening to the
men with great seriousness and once or twice he found himself agreeing
effusively with some fellow who had just spoken the most complete
rubbish. He was a very young man, probably just out of university. He
noticed he had very nice teeth.
He felt he was trying too hard to be agreeable and once when he gave an
opinion and was contradicted rather gruffly by a slightly more senior
colleague, he backed down at once and just changed his view in what must
have appeared a very clumsy attempt at toadying, which he knew it wasn't
at all. In fact he had simply lost confidence in his opinion the moment
it was challenged, and he felt a strong conviction that the other man
obviously knew better than he, and Derek mustn't embarrass himself
further.
While this confused him, and he knew it was gravely unprofessional, he
still found it hard to take it seriously. He felt a sense of private
amusement at how everyone in the Law likes to be stuffy. He gave his
head a shake. It must be lack of sleep he concluded, and decided to get
an early night tonight.
DEREK often had lunch with one of the other partners in the firm, Brian
Ball, when neither of them was meeting clients or working on something.
Today they went to a local wine bar they often lunched in. As usual it
was very busy and they hadn't booked. They knew that a table would be
available before too long however, so they went up to the bar for a
drink.
Brian was a bit younger than Derek, about forty, fit and good looking.
Derek and he would normally sit on these occasions side by side both
facing the bar and talking about work, maybe some aspect of a case or
some point of law, or just making small talk. They had known each other
for years, mainly as colleagues but occasionally socially. Brian was
married to a successful obstetrician-gynaecologist. They had a couple of
children who were younger than Derek's.
Today Derek found himself turning and facing Brian as they sat at the
bar. He was listening to Brian speak with great concentration and found
what he had to say very interesting.
He considered this as he listened to Brian and was looking at him with
new appreciation. He thought to himself he had quite a handsome looking
face, quite impressive really. He looked at the way his mouth was full
of mirth as he recounted some anecdote. It was one he had heard before
but Brian was telling it well.
He found he was enjoying the story much better this time. He liked the
way Brian was becoming animated as he came to the punch line. He felt a
twinge of surprise as he remembered that the first time he heard the
story he had thought Brian was a bit full of himself. He was really
enjoying listening to him tell it the second time around.
Somewhere beneath his surface thoughts he was aware that he hoped Brian
was noticing that he was listening so intently. The vague awareness of
this desire struck him as strange. Again he gave his head a shake and
concentrated harder. The thought was distracting him from the story,
which was just coming to a good bit, if he remembered correctly. Derek
laughed heartily and gazed at Brian rather amazed. He's really very
clever, he considered as he took a sip of his drink.
Just then he caught sight of himself in a mirror on the other side of
the wine bar. He saw that he was turned towards Brian and listening to
his story with just a bit too much eagerness. He was laughing and
encouraging Brian. His face was animated and smiling. The spectacle
struck him as a bit unseemly. He immediately spun round on his stool to
face the bar, clutching his drink in both hands. I need an early night
tonight, he thought to himself. He felt light-headed and the room seemed
to be swimming. The sight of his reflection in the mirror had been so
incongruous that he felt quite shaken.
"There's our table," said Brian jumping up as two women stood up to
leave and making a quick dash to the table. Derek followed rather
unsteadily and sat down opposite Brian.
"Look, Brian, I'm suddenly not feeling well. I didn't get much sleep
last night. I think I'm going to have to go home."
"Really?" said Brian, not looking up from the menu. "You seem fine to
me. Better company than usual, actually."
(He likes my company, thought Derek.)
"No, I really do feel quite sick suddenly. Would you mind telling them
at the office it's an emergency? I don't have any appointments this
afternoon, so I'll just go straight home."
Brian looked up from the menu. "You do look rather agitated. Off you go
then. Don't worry about the office, I'll explain it all."
The private voice of his thoughts spoke in Derek's mind: "He's really
quite sweet."
DEREK slumped into an easy chair when he got home. "I think I must be
going crazy." He got up and poured himself a large tumbler of scotch,
then slumped back down in the same chair. He began to realise how tired
he was, and letting his head fall back he closed his eyes.
It was getting dark when he awoke. He noticed the glass was empty. He
focussed his eyes on it. No, nothing spilt. He must have drunk it all.
He moved his head gingerly, expecting to feel a headache. He was
relieved to find he felt fine.
All his earlier anxiety seemed to have evaporated. In fact he felt quite
cheerful. He stretched his body, lifting his hands over his head, and
yawned in a comical way, which made him smile.
I just needed sleep, he concluded to himself reassuringly.
He gave a little sigh, and thought, "better get up and see about
dinner." The memory came back to him of thinking that Brian was sweet.
"Well, he's a good-looking fella. Anyone would think so," he mused. He
gave a chuckle. His laughter sounded like a giggle. It sounded so funny
he laughed till tears came and his sides hurt.
He collected himself and clapped his hands together as though calling a
stop to some game. "Now, dinner," he said firmly.
He went to the fridge to consider what he might make. Normally preparing
meals was a depressing chore. Since his divorce he had usually eaten out
or had takeaway or quick prepared meals from Marks and Spencer. It just
didn't seem worth the effort to cook a big meal for himself. But tonight
he was feeling ravenous, and a little--what?--yes, creative! He opened the
fridge door and let out a squeal of delight.
Chocolates! He opened the box in the fridge and popped one in his mouth.
A feeling of ecstasy as he bit into it and savoured it right down to the
last trace. Mmm. Another one. This sort is nice. I haven't had that kind
in a while. He licked his lips and looked in the box for the next one.
All gone! "Like the Walrus and the Carpenter," he said out loud
brightly.
Oh well, at least he didn't feel hungry anymore. Perhaps he'd better
have something a bit more nourishing. He looked again, but there was
only some cold pizza. Better than nothing. He finished the plate. Must
go shopping tomorrow, he thought. Get some proper food. Cook up
something scrumptious. And I'd better get some more chocolate.
Now for a glass of ale. He opened the bottle, poured a glass and took a
big gulp.
Funny. He liked a bitter drop, but this was too bitter for his taste.
Must be a bad batch. He must take it back and see about a refund. He
poured a glass of coke and drank it straight down, patting his mouth
with his fingers when he was finished. He poured another glass.
"I know what would be good!" he said aloud, and poured a big serving of
scotch into the glass of coke. "Yum!" he said trying a sip. The whisky
costs so much more than the coke, but the coke really makes it! He took
the glass into the study and sat down in front of the computer.
With all the strangeness of the day he had almost forgotten about the
previous night and his encounter with his "ideal girl". It seemed to
have happened ages ago, not just a few hours. He opened the laptop and
waited a few moments for it to spring to life.
There was the folder Your Wish. He opened it up and saw the files he
remembered from the night before. He clicked on the little box-shaped
icon named Your Ideal! and waited.
In seconds the image he remembered appeared.
The beautiful girl was gazing at him again with laughing eyes. He looked
at her face for a long time, utterly entranced. Impossible as it seemed
she was even more beautiful than he remembered.
She seemed to be looking at him with a secret amusement of her own. He
had the impression that her eyes were looking straight into him,
straight into his mind. She had such brazen confidence! She seemed to
know more than he did. As he looked his heart skipped a beat.
So beautiful! But there was something dangerous about her as well. He
was a middle-aged man looking lasciviously at a picture of a teenaged
girl, and yet her gaze made him feel that he was the one who was being
scrutinised. For a moment he felt exposed. She was looking at him with
that same good-natured amusement, but there was also a questioning about
her expression, an eyebrow slightly raised and a look in the eye, as if
she was expecting him to do something.
Or waiting for something.
He began to look again at the whole picture, and explore it as he had
the night before, zooming in and out and marvelling again at the detail
of the photograph, even at extreme magnification. He looked again at the
DNA and gave a chuckle. Clever touch. How did they do it?
She wore no jewellery in the picture. A thought occurred to him. Zooming
in on her ear he saw the tiny indentations of piercings, one on the
lobe, and (it was the left ear which was visible) two more little
piercings higher up. At high magnification it was all clearly visible.
He had another thought. Moving the face a little he found her nose. He
knew it! She usually wore a nose stud. Or maybe a nose ring. The tiny
mark proved it. One more thing to check: he zoomed in on her navel;
zoomed some more. He was sure of it. She had a pierced navel. There
should be a navel stud there. Or ring. I wonder why she isn't wearing
it? he thought.
Looking now at the whole picture once again, he took in her wonderful
young body: slim but perfectly proportioned, exuding health and
vitality. Her breasts were small but not too small, beautifully shaped,
full and rounded. The nipples showing through her tee shirt hard and
erect as if she were sexually aroused. His eyes scanned her whole body,
drinking it in.
Time had got on. It was close to midnight and he had poured himself
several more drinks in the course of the night. The thought occurred to
him that he was becoming obsessed with this girl. And it was just one
picture. She wasn't even naked!
I bet she'd look good with a small tattoo, he suddenly thought. The
thought surprised him. He normally didn't like tattoos, and was rather
turned off by tattooed women. But a small one would suit her, he
thought. And they're very fashionable among young girls these days. (He
did not recall his stubborn refusal to allow his daughter to get any
sort of tattoo when she was sixteen. Nor piercings for that matter,
though he relented on pierced ears--just one in each.) But what should it
be? How about a "tramp stamp" on the small of her back? The idea seemed
surprisingly appealing, surprising because he normally thought these
looked cheap and vulgar. He felt conflicted for a moment. Perhaps
something very subtle and discreet for now. Some symbol, perhaps. A
flower? Butterfly? An animal?
A Chinese character, they look good. Just one. What should it say? "Fuck
me!'? He toyed with the idea.
He became aware that he was aroused and had been gently holding himself
while he had been looking at the girl's picture. It gave him a sense of
relief as he realised this. Somewhere in the back of his mind he had
been feeling uneasy about his lunch with Brian and thinking that he was
a handsome man. At least I'm not going gay, he thought.
He kept on considering. She was supposed to be his wish come true. But
she was just a picture. She must be real somewhere of course, for the
photograph to have been taken.
What if the photo has been touched up? It probably had been--no one is
that perfect in reality. And it's standard practice in fashion magazines
and posters. Imperfections are air brushed out, bodies and facial
features are manipulated. We see an idealised fabrication rather than
the reality. "Idealised!" he thought. They said she was my ideal.
If only she were real!
That's what the Chinese character should say: "Real'. Whatever the
Chinese symbol is for "Real'. Right there. Just there on the soft flesh
of her abdomen towards the left hip. Quite small. Like a monogram. Like
a wish. Real.
I wish she was real. He closed his eyes for a moment and held his
breath. He really did wish it. He said it aloud.
"I wish she was real."
He looked at her face. She seemed pleased.
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