Anarchy Astrology and Aphrodisia

He'd walked by the bookstore dozens of times before even noticing it was there. It was on a street he went down nearly every day, but the entrance to the store was tucked away in an alley and the sign wasn't big or flashy.

"Anarchy Books" it proclaimed in black hand lettering, with a little red pentagram underneath. He probably never would have gone in if not to look for a birthday present for his little sister, who never shut up about zodiac signs. He wasn't much of a reader.

It was a tiny store smelling faintly of marijuana. Seemingly every possible surface was crammed with volumes under subject labels like "Spiritual Healing," "Revolutionary Ideology," and "Crystals." In the corner, an iron spiral staircase lead up to a second balcony level. He ventured further into the store looking around for any employees, but finding none began to peruse the titles feeling more than a little lost as to what exactly he was looking for. Frustrated, he picked one at random and began thumbing through it.

"Are you a big fan of the occult?" The voice made him jump. It was dry and slightly sarcastic, low but distinctly feminine though he could not make out the speaker.

"Sorry?"

He looked up to see a woman taking the stairs two down at a time, which seemed unwise given the thick platform shoes she was wearing. Despite the shoes she was several inches shorter than him and overall quite petite. She was pretty, very pretty, with a pale, heart shaped face framed by shoulder length black hair and dark make-up heavily applied around her green eyes.

"I said are you a fan of the occult?" She nodded toward the book he was holding and he glanced down at the cover.

The Black Arts: A Concise History of Witchcraft, Demonology, Astrology, and Other Mystical Practices Throughout the Ages.

"Oh. Ha. No, not really."

"I never would have guessed."

He laughed, in earnest this time, and put the book back on the shelf. Nothing about his shaggy hair, open, friendly face, or relaxed style suggested "witchcraft." He was a surfer boy type through and through, and he looked it.

"I'm Dylan."

She cocked her head with interest and sized him up.

"Wendy."

Before he could continue the conversation she turned and made her way - carefully so as not to disturb any stacks of books - to the little checkout desk and slid behind it.

Dylan followed, intrigued.

"Wendy, would you happen to have any books on uh...what do you call it...astronomy? Like zodiac signs and shit?"

"Astrology. Upstairs."

"Right." He gave her a curt salute and headed toward the staircase, which seemed like it might crumple under his weight. Upstairs he browsed the small selection under a sign hand-painted with little stars and a goat with the tail of a fish.

"You know," he said, loud enough for his voice to fill the whole store, "you don't look like a Wendy."

There was a short pause, then "I get that a lot. It's just because I don't look right out of Peter Pan."

"You got that right," he said to himself, and picked up

The Little Big Book of Astrology.

"Hey you got some pretty cool signs around here."

"Oh. Thanks. I painted them."

"For real?" He leaned over the rail to look down at Wendy. "That's sick. I like this goat-mermaid thing."

"It's a Capricorn."

Dylan made his way down the stairs, which shuddered ominously underfoot, and set

The Stars Within You: A Modern Guide to Astrology

on the checkout desk. "That's one of the signs? You know a lot about this astrology stuff?"

She took the book and shrugged. "I guess so. You'd be surprised how accurate it can be. $14.49."

"Oh yeah? You think you could guess my sign?"

Wendy leaned forward and looked at him hard. He noticed for the first time a delicate silver hoop through her septum, as well as several piercings on each ear. He wondered if she had any other piercings.

"Taurus."

Dylan reached for the book and flipped through it. "April 20th to May 20th, damn you nailed it. Although I was almost," he turned the page, "a Gemini. Alright, Taurus traits. Persistent. Stubborn. Grounded. Romantic." He glanced at Wendy with raised eyebrows, "not bad. What's yours?"

"If I tell will you leave?"

"No promises, but it's worth a shot." A slight smile flickered across her face and was gone just as quickly. Dylan grinned.

I'll take it.

"October 28th. Scorpio."

"Mhm. Here you are: Charismatic. Mysterious. Passionate. Sensual. Surprisingly accurate you said?"

She raised one perfectly arched eyebrow, unimpressed. "And what does it say about Taurus-Scorpio compatibility?"

He skimmed the page as he took out his wallet. "Oof. Terrible match. Not a good couple." He snapped the book closed and placed a twenty on the table. "Although it does say the sex is fantastic."

A flush rose to her pale cheeks and Dylan grinned. "It was nice meeting you, Wendy!" he called back, and exited the store.

------------------------------

Two days later he was back. And it wasn't for a copy of

Memoirs of a Revolutionist.

He could not stop thinking about the cute goth chick in the bookstore. She was...different than his usual type, to say the least. But his heart beat quickened when he thought about her, that had to count for something. When he entered the store Wendy was sitting behind the counter reading something, her hair falling in a dark curtain over her face.

Steeling himself for rejection, Dylan made his way over and rapped gently on the counter. When she looked up he felt like the wind had been knocked out of him.

"Hi," he managed.

"Hi."

She was wearing a short sleeve black crop top, revealing a dark green serpent tattoo coiled around her left arm above the elbow. The fabric stretched tight over her chest and he could make out the outline of a tiny ring on each nipple. This girl was full of surprises.

"Can I help you with something?"

He realized he was staring and smiled sheepishly. "Uh. Yeah. Dylan, from the other day."

"I remember."

"Good, good."

"Did you want another book?"

"No, I- uh, would you want to get coffee? With me?"

She was quiet for a moment, her intense green eyes searching his face. "I can't leave, I'm the only one working today. And I'm more of a tea drinker."

Dylan puffed out his cheeks and exhaled deeply. "That's not a no."

"It is not."

"Okay. Okay! Great." He ran one hand nervously through his too-long mop of hair and nodded. "I'll be right back." Feeling elated, he jogged out of the store.

Twenty minutes later Dylan returned with two large take-out cups in hand. He set them down on the counter and began clearing volumes off the adjacent table. Wendy glanced up from her book.

"What are you doing?"

"You can't go get coffee so I brought the coffee to you. Proverbially speaking. Chamomile or chai?"

She eyed him warily.

"Chai."

Dylan slid the cup on his left towards her and hauled himself onto the table.

"What are you reading?"

She held up the book to show him the cover, a picture of a man with wild eyes and long mussed hair and the title

CULTS

in red capital letters.

"So nothing interesting then?" He joked.

Her lips twitched with a half smile. "Only if you don't think 39 people being brainwashed into thinking the Hale-Bopp comet was a spaceship that would bring them to heaven is interesting."

"Tell me more."

"Okay, well, it started with this man and woman. And he was gay but they were like...conspiracy soulmates."

Dylan nodded skeptically. As she continued, he found himself uncharacteristically engrossed in the story. He wasn't a morbid person to be sure but he had to admit it was pretty fascinating, especially the way Wendy told it.

"...and the weirdest part was that the bodies were all found wearing identical tracksuits and matching Nikes. And they all had exactly five dollars and three quarters in their pockets."

He whistled long and low. "Jeeeesus."

"Pretty bizarre, huh?" She sipped her tea. "So..."

"So?" He repeated, innocently.

"What's with all of this?"

"All of what?"

"The hanging around. The tea. The listening to me talk about mass suicide."

"Ah." He considered her carefully and decided to go with the most honest answer. "I think you're interesting. And really,

really

hot." Another half smile. "And I was hoping I could take you to dinner some time."

She took another long sip of tea. "How do I know you're not some stalker waiting to get me alone and murder me?"

"Because stalkers are usually greasy weirdos and not incredibly handsome and charming suitors."

"And where do you factor in there?"

"Ha. ha." He said flatly, "I'm the suitor. I'm not stalking you, I swear. I just want to take you out."

She leaned back in her chair, looking him up and down. "No." His heart sank. "But...we close at 8:30. And you can walk me home."

Dylan grinned. "I can work with that." He checked his watch. It was just past five. "Oh shit. I told my sister I'd meet her for a beer." He hopped off the table and grabbed the still full cup of chamomile. "But I'll be back. Here. 8:30."

She nodded wryly. "8:30."

He righted himself and exited, trying to look casual.

Unknown to him, Wendy watched out the store window as he victoriously punched the air.

------------------------------

Dylan caught her just as she was locking the doors.

"You're late." She said, without looking up from the task at hand.

"Only a few minutes."

Wendy slipped the key ring into her black bag and turned toward the street. He looked after her, admiring her ass in those high waisted shorts. Not to mention the thigh-high fishnet stockings. She looked over her shoulder impatiently.

"Are you coming?"

He caught up to her quickly, his long strides overtaking her short ones.

"It's not far."

"That's too bad. I thought we could get to know each other a little."

Wendy rummaged through her bag and withdrew a lighter and a joint, which she put to her lips. Dylan laughed.

"You just going to spark up walking down main street?"

She glanced sideways at him, then took a long drag and shrugged. "Sure am but thank you for your concern, Mom." She proffered the the joint.

"Okay, okay." He took it, puffed, and coughed as he handed it back, a little embarrassed by her amused smile.

"You don't have to smoke it."

"Nah, it's- I like it but I'm not used to it. Didn't smoke in high school or college. It's still new."

"Oh yeah? You know you got kind of a stoner look going on." She took another drag and offered the joint again.

"Ah, I've been told. But no," he admitted, inhaling. "Don't want to brag but I was a basketball star back in the day. And I ran track and field. Wasn't taking any chances with the ol' lungs."

"Back in the day, huh?" She glanced at him up and down. He was only a few years out of college and still in fantastic shape.

"Uh huh. Taurus, remember? Strong like bull." He struck a pose and Wendy coughed up a cloud of smoke laughing.

"Sure you are." She directed him down a side street.

"Hey, I still got it."

"Oh yeah?"

"Absolutely."

"Could you pick me up?" Wendy took a final puff, dropped the butt, and stamped it out with her platforms. Dylan turned to face her.

"What are you like 100 pounds? I could pick you up, bench press you, and toss you around like pizza dough."

"Let's see it."

He raised his eyebrows. "Okay."

Before Wendy could respond she was swept off her feet - literally - and into Dylan's arms, bridal style. On instinct she clasped her arms around his neck.

"See? Easy." He rocked his arms back and forth experimentally then swung around in a circle to demonstrate.

"Okay, you made your point- ah!" She shrieked as he tossed her a couple of inches in the air, automatically burying her face in the crook of his neck and clamping her legs around his torso to hang on.

When she looked up again they were face to face, any semblance of joking gone from his expression.

Dylan's heart pounded, more from excitement than exhaustion. Slow, agonizingly slow, she tilted her head and closed the space between their lips. He held her closer, the feeling of her body molding to his own intoxicating.

She pulled back suddenly, as if embarrassed by her own forwardness, and he lowered her gently to the ground.

"We're here."

He blinked, feeling a little dazed. Whether it was from the pot or the kiss was anyone's guess.

"Huh?" The cartoonish stupidity of his own voice brought him crashing down to earth. Wendy was walking up the stairs to a blue duplex and sifting through her purse.

"Well?" She withdrew her keys and unlocked the door. "Are you coming in?"

Dylan bounded up the stairs and followed her through the apartment, up another set of stairs, and into her room. No sooner had the lock clicked than Wendy dropped her bag, turned on her heel, and kissed him hard. Her fingers snaked up his pecs and pushed his jacket down around his shoulders. Dylan shrugged it off and let it fall to the floor. Her palms pressed to his chest, she pushed him back against the door.

His hands roamed from her waist to her hips to her thighs. He guided one leg around his waist and pulled her up to straddle him, two hands firmly gripping her ass.

God, her scent.

It was like sandalwood and patchouli and something earthy and spicy that he couldn't name. With very little effort, Dylan spun to pin her against the door and bowed his head to press kisses to her collarbone.

"You know, I-" She said breathlessly, "I'm not really looking for anything serious."

"This doesn't have to be serious," he responded, planting kisses up her left shoulder. "Maybe I can just be your own personal sex slave."

She let out a low laugh which turned into a moan as he sucked on a particularly sensitive spot on her neck.

"Is that a joke or an offer?"

He pulled back to look at her. He had been half joking, but something told him he should just run with the offer. Their eyes met. Dylan grinned. That seemed to be all she needed.

"Bed."

He didn't need to be told twice. They stumbled over, shoes kicked off haphazardly, landing hard on the mattress. Supporting himself with one arm and gripping her waist with the other, Dylan leaned down to kiss her. Wendy moaned as the hard tent in his jeans pressed into her crotch. Then, all of a sudden, her hand was on his collarbone and she was pushing him backwards. He sat back on his knees.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing." She smiled. "I want you to watch me."

Dylan raised an eyebrow. "Sounds dirty."

Wendy turned towards her bedside table and clicked on a lamp, bathing the dark room in a dim, warm glow. "Don't worry, you'll like it."

She leaned off the bed to reach the bottom drawer and withdrew several items he could not see.

"For me," she dropped a small vibrator onto the bed, "and for you."

The lube made sense, but the second item...

"How exactly am I supposed to use this?" He asked, holding up the thick black rubber ring she had placed in front of him.

With a mischievous glint in her eye, Wendy crawled toward him and yanked at the hem of his shirt. As he removed it, she made quick work of his zipper and slipped the waistband of his boxer briefs down, down, down until his almost fully erect cock sprung free. Dylan had a pretty good idea that he was well-endowed, but if Wendy was impressed she didn't show it. She reached for the bottle of lube and began slowly and deliberately to coat the length of his cock. When she was satisfied, she took the ring and slid it down to fit snugly, but not uncomfortably, just above his balls.

"Now don't cum until I tell you to."

Dylan chuckled and opened his mouth to tell her that he didn't exactly have that level of control but bit it back. Wendy had kicked her shorts off and pulled her shirt over her head, leaving her in only fishnet stockings and a scrap of black panties. As she leaned back on the pillows, the rings on her pert nipples glinted against milky white skin. Dylan stroked himself lazily. Her breasts looked soft and sweet, a perfect handful.

Wendy looked up at him through hooded eyes as if reading his mind.

"No touching."

Dylan nodded obediently. He could help but feel voyeuristic with his jeans bunched around his hips, cock in hand, watching as she slipped one hand between her legs and traced tiny circles around her clit. She tilted her head back and her eyes fluttered shut, deepening the feeling that he was an intruder on this private moment. Somehow that made it so much hotter.

Satisfied with her self-teasing, Wendy fumbled on the bed for the little vibrator and clicked it on, filling the room with a low buzz. Lightly, gently, she ghosted the toy over her clit and groaned with pleasure.

"Dylan..." she moaned softly.

Dylan took a ragged breath and tightened his grip on his own cock. He wasn't sure how long he could keep up if she went on like this. But Wendy was merciless, pressing the toy closer to her. He kicked off his jeans and sat a little straighter.

"Oh...mmm, Dylan," she cried, louder this time.

He gritted his teeth and sped up to keep pace with her. Her body was mesmerizing. Her hips writhed against her hands, the vibrator pressed so close it would have been inside her if not for the thin lace still covering her pussy.

"Fuck," Dylan muttered. His wrist was flying up and down but he could not seem to move past the precipice of orgasm. Wendy, on the other hand, appeared to be having no trouble at all. Her breasts heaved, and he could see her pale face flushed pink. One stocking had slipped down around her knee.

She opened her mouth but no sound came, only a small shudder. Finally, she slowed and let the toy slip from her fingers.

Wendy lay still, panting blissfully. When she sat up, a cat-like smile of satiation broke out on her lips. She looked Dylan up and down and, satisfied that he had followed her directions, nodded.

"Good boy."

Wendy made a show of rolling one stocking down her calf and discarding it, then leaned back on her elbows.

"So," she brushed her naked foot against his thigh, "how do you like your cock ring?"

Dylan groaned as she traced shapes on his thigh with pointed toes.

"I'm so close..." His voice was low and hoarse.

Wendy moved her foot upwards to rest on the base of his cock. "Not yet."

He let his arms fall and grip the sheets as the ball of her foot glided up and down his length. When he looked down, his cock was more swollen than he had ever seen it. Veins bulged faintly on his shaft, which he could have sworn was both thicker and darker than usual. Especially in contrast to her pale, delicate foot.

Am I a foot guy?

He wondered. It had never really occurred to him before. But

fuck

it was arousing to watch her green-polished toes stroke him.

"Wendy, I-unh..." He clenched his jaw in anticipation, but before just before he reached the edge, she lifted her foot. On instinct, he reached for his cock but Wendy was too fast. Her foot made contact with his forearm with a soft smack and she pushed it down to the mattress.

"Not. Yet."

In a wave of frustration, Dylan caught her ankle and yanked her flat on her back. In seconds he was on top of her. Beads of pre-cum leaked on to her stomach. Planked above her, Dylan lowered his lips to her ear.

"When?"

Wendy placed two perfectly manicured fingers to his chest and pushed him back into a kneeling position.

"When I'm ready." She shimmied out of her panties and parted her knees expectantly. Dylan looked at her with incredulity and admiration.

She knows what she wants, I'll give her that.

He bowed his head to her chest. Her nipples were taut and hard on zaftig breasts. Dylan took one in his mouth and tugged gently at the little silver ring, feeling triumphant when he heard her suck a sharp breath through her teeth in pleasure. He moved to the other nipple, now fully knelt over her, broad hands enveloping her slim waist, worshipping her body.