The Hyacinth House Pt 01

Adam woke to the chirrup of the cat wanting its morning feed, later than usual as it was raining and still dark outside. He pressed the light on the small clock on his bedside table: 7:11. He slid out of bed and went through to the bathroom for his morning piss, enjoying the weight of his cock still heavy from a slow waking dream. She'd been no one he knew, but the dream had been one of those long, lucid, multi-stage ones, and she'd been vivid, her hungry kiss wanting more. They'd been in a house he'd never been in before, so he thought it must have been hers.

He walked down to the kitchen where the cat sat waiting. "How are you, boy?" he asked, scratching behind the creature's ears. Receiving another chirrup in response, Adam knew the cat regarded him as a fellow beast this morning, and would save its imperious miaows for later, when it wanted some human attention.

Adam shook out the cat's dried food and filled the water bowl. The cat was getting older now, and drank more. Adam took a bottle of cold water from the fridge and took a long swig. The same could be said about him.

Returning to his bedroom, he pulled the curtains back and watched the wind swaying the tree branches outside, black shapes against the slow rising light of the morning. Cold air radiated off the wide window glass, and he huddled lower under the bed-covers, watching the gusting sheets of rain. A gloomy Sunday ahead with nothing planned - he thought he might sleep in some more.

But he reached down for his Kindle on the floor and flicked out its charger cord. He decided to check on his social media accounts, and probably fall back asleep.

Literotica first; no comments on any stories, and the Author's Hangout was quiet, possibly a US holiday or the first quietening of the northern summer; American smut writers under their summer sun trying to forget their politics. But Adam remembered the end of the Cold War and the Berlin Wall coming down, back then an unimaginable thing, and he thought 2019 no less extraordinary, if a little more bizarre.

He logged in to his email account, and found a message in the in-box:

- This message contains feedback for: writingbyaacain -

- This feedback was sent by: Maddy88$$@notarealemailaddress -

- Comments: -

- Hi writingbyaacain, I've just read your series the Madelyn Chapters, and think I might be the Maddy you met in street, who you based your character on. I remember walking around the slow-assed suits that you describe in that opening scene, and a charming older man jabbing the button at the crossing. And stopping in the street and shaking hands. Surely that didn't happen twice. You went into that building and I continued walking. I was a bit disappointed that we didn't walk further. In that short time you made me smile -

- But your story! Wow, that was hot. You ummm... made me very happy the last few nights, reading about Madelyn, Juliette and Adam. But goodness me though, I'm not like your Madelyn at all. Okay, yes, I'm tall, but your Madelyn? She was so... dangerous. Anyway, I don't really know what else to say, you'll just think it a bit creepy weird, me thinking about me being written into story. But it was kind of... exciting, I don't know. I think I'll just... send this now :) -

- Maddy (not your Maddy though, just me) -

- my email address, hope you might reply? God did I just write that -

- *DO NOT hit the REPLY button to respond to this email.* -

Adam read the message through twice, thinking how unlikely it all was; the tall girl he'd met in the street that day three years ago, recognising herself in his story? Well, the opening scene at least. In truth, he hadn't had his wits about him. If he had, he'd have walked further with her, but as it was, he'd walked into the lobby of that damned building and never saw her again.

But now this, out of the blue! He smiled. The real Maddy had found his story on Literotica. He wondered if she'd found it using the category pages or a tag search. And if tags, which ones? And she'd provided her email address through the Lit feedback system, which was a deliberate thing to do, even if she seemed somewhat flustered, her fingers out of control. She was a woman with a little spice in her life, then; getting turned on by his words. Reality lurched and crept in a little closer, like a cat seeking warmth on a cold winter's night.

He remembered, too, the short poem and the contemplative post he'd written on his Tumblr blog, shortly after he'd met the young woman, Maddy, in the street. He looked them up and saw his mood back then:

"Nimue in the city

if she were to walk that street again

and walk another block,

I might charm her legs around me.

It would be witchery, a little spell, to walk around the block."

"I am contemplative and want something to happen. All this talk of witches and girls in the street with long legs, I write about it. If you were a strong witch you would tell her to walk that way again, and trap me in a tree. Perhaps it's the weather, one of those balmy spring days when all I want is the breeze on my face, the scent of flowers, and to do nothing at all but drift. But I have to do things. So I'm sharing the feeling with someone who understands it."

Look at that - the first time he'd written about Nimue trapping Merlin in a tree; and he'd also written to the Canadian woman he'd met on Tumblr, where he'd found her photos and drawn her. This woman Maddy, she'd bewitched him in the street and triggered the writing of two of his longest story cycles. In Adam's world, then, she was important; and somehow she'd found his words amongst all those millions and contacted him. What was the likelihood of that?

Adam mulled it over for the rest of the day, twice going back to read her email. He noticed when it was sent: 12:48 am on the Sunday morning, and it was Sunday still. Maddy, somewhere in the same city perhaps, had spent a Thursday and a Friday and a Saturday night reading his stories, and was moved to write to him; from her bed, on her phone? That jolted him with a dazzling realisation - a tall, very attractive woman with dark and direct eyes and a delicious smile, who had a way of touching his upper arm that was so very intimate, so very direct, alone on a Friday and a Saturday night? That didn't seem right. He grew more curious.

That evening, he sat down to compose a reply.

* * * *

Maddy drove down the slight slope of the driveway and parked outside the ground floor door to her flat. She gathered up her bag from the passenger seat and the half empty bottle of water from the centre console. It was raining, so she reached around to the back seat to get her gear bag. She usually got to it by opening the car's back door, but didn't want to get too wet. She winced with a pain in her back, tight muscles from the tough game and a sudden pull from the stretch and weight of her kit. "Ooo, ouch, I'm gonna hurt later," she complained, but as usual after a game and the twenty minute drive home, she was the only one listening.

She stretched to pull the kinks from her sore muscles and got ready to open the car door, to run for the little porch. She got her keys out for the security fly screen and the dead-locked front door. This rain, she thought, is ridiculous. In the distance, over the rush of the wind, she heard the low thump of surf from the nearby beach. That was unusual; normally she couldn't hear any sound from the sea at all.

Once inside, Maddy reached back with the keys to remote lock the car, and dropped her gear bag into the downstairs room, which she used as a combination studio, gym, and junk room. Although it was cool in summer, its windows looked out over the driveway and the wall of the neighbouring building, so she didn't use the room much; just her weights, mostly.

"You should convert it into a dungeon," Jillian had joked one day. "Nobody would know."

"Don't be daft," Maddy replied. "I can't see me being Madame Lash."

"Go on, Maddy, do it. Your long legs, tight ass. You'd look fucking hot in a corset."

"Fuck off, Jill. My tits aren't big enough. Who wants a mistress with small boobs?"

"Your boobs, Mads, are perfect. You know I want them."

Maddy could never figure out if Jillian was joking or not. She didn't think Jill was gay, but then Maddy was the first to admit her gaydar was shit. "Anyway," Jillian had concluded, "not everyone's a Kevin from IT. Some men like tall women like you, with tight little apples for breasts. When you don't threaten them."

"I don't threaten men. Do I? Tell me I don't."

"Put it this way, Maddy, sometimes you could be a little less... fierce. You know?"

Maddy did know. "Yeah, but where am I going to meet someone who isn't a knuckle-head all the time? Just 'coz I play lots of sport, and pump some weights, doesn't mean I want someone whose idea of a good time is watching the footy on a Friday night." She laughed. "I'm the one with the muscles."

Jillian had looked Maddy over with a very critical eye. "You know, Maddy, if I was gay, I'd do you. You are, you know, very fit." She ran a finger down Maddy's arm, with a peculiar expression in her eyes. Maddy let her do it, then registered what Jillian was doing.

"God, will you stop doing that? You're making me nervous."

Jillian laughed. "Got you going, girl, didn't I? You know I like cock too much... to ever think about your sweet kitty."

"See, you're doing it again. I never know which way you turn."

Maddy shook her head. She'd known Jillian for years, but still she wondered: all this teasing. She wasn't used to it, her sexual experience being quite limited - a couple of boys fumbling at school, a few hopeless men since then; one man who had seemed perfect but who turned out to be in love with himself. Her height - even though she carried it beautifully, slender and proud, her athlete's body knowing how to move gracefully - she never quite seemed to fit.

"Your problem, Mads, is you don't actually know how stunning you are."

"Jilly, stop it!" And they'd changed the subject, just as they always did when Maddy's sex life entered the conversation.

Inside her flat, Maddy carefully walked up the stairs to the main living area. She winced and rubbed her thigh. She'd taken some hard knocks from the opposing centre attack, a big girl who was very quick on her feet, in Maddy's face all the time. They'd got physical, in tight and close. The girl had winked at Maddy, laughing. "'Contact,' it'll be 'contact,' you'll see. The fucking ump, she'll catch me every time."

Maddy swung against her so the other player would feel her there and know she wasn't intimidated. "Bring it, pussy. Bring it on." They'd played legally, but pushed hard against each other, their breath coming in gasps, their movement around the court fast and physical, sledging each other under their breath - a conspiracy of obscenities that the umpire didn't hear.

Afterwards, the woman came up to Maddy. "Good game. You worked it. I'm gonna hurt tomorrow."

"Cheers, babe. Fuck you over at the finals, yeah?" Maddy grinned. She wasn't afraid of this one.

"Bring it, bitch!" They'd both laughed, and hugged each other hard, the camaraderie of a game well played more important than the score.

But Maddy hurt. She went to the bathroom and ran hot water into the tub, pouring in some salts and bubbles, wanting a long, luxurious soak. While she waited for the tub to fill, she went to the kitchen and got a glass of red wine and some food for supper. She turned the heater on.

After checking the rising level of the bath, she began to strip the uniform from her body, dropping the skirt into the washing basket and pulling the top up over her head. She breathed in deeply, almost tasting the rich, spicy aroma of her sweat. She raised her arms and inspected both armpits. "Fuck, really?" she asked herself, as she registered the slight stubble in the cups of her arms. She decided to have a quick "pamper Maddy" session, where she'd shave her armpits and her legs, groom her pubes; then enjoy a long soak.

She pulled the tight sports bra off and massaged both breasts with her palms, pressing against them hard. Her nipples tightened with the cold, and she shivered. She tugged her cotton briefs down her legs and stood before the floor length mirror, naked. Maddy looked at herself for twenty seconds, studying her body. She nodded at her reflection, liking what she saw. She was in peak condition, tight muscled with a dancer's grace. A light six-pack rippled across her belly, and her breasts were high and taut on her chest. She turned to see the firm curve of her ass. She was, as Jillian put it, very fit.

Finding her razor, Maddy efficiently shaved her armpits, then slicked smooth her legs. She tidied up the softest places at the tops of her thighs, shaving right up to her lips. Then she dug out the electric razor, put on the number one comb, and swiftly trimmed back her pubes. Being dark-haired, her pubic hair grew back quickly, and she didn't have the patience to keep herself fully bare. So a swift number one, and her body hair stayed nice and soft. She liked the visual and sensual contrast too, a dark, velvety shadow at the base of her belly. She fingered a bruise on her thigh where the other girl had bumped her too hard. No wonder she was sore.

Her grooming done and the damage surveyed, Maddy quickly showered to rinse the hair and shaving foam from her skin, then slid into the deep bath and ducked her head under the surface of the water. She lay there, almost completely submerged, and felt her body relax. After a time her fingers drifted down her belly, then further down between her legs, lightly stroking the silky smooth skin. She sighed, leaned back and spread a leg wide. The heat of the water soothed her and she nearly fell asleep. Her fingers were slow, a promise of distant pleasure, not quick arousal; but she didn't feel like coming, not yet.

After a long, relaxing soak, Maddy climbed out of the tub and dried herself on a hot towel. She slipped into a set of fleecy pyjamas, not the slightest bit glamorous but deliciously warm. She towelled the moisture from her hair, then tied it back with a band, keeping it off her face.

She went out to the living room and curled up on the couch, covering herself with a soft blanket. She reached for her laptop to check her emails.

To: Maddy88$$@notarealemailaddress

From: writingbyaacain@notarealemailaddress

Date: July 14, 2019, 7:11 PM

Maddy looked at the time; the message had been sent only a couple of hours ago. She rubbed her forefinger over the time stamp on her screen, as if to erase it if it wasn't real, or to read it like Braille if it was. She didn't quite believe it; Adam Cain had answered the message she'd sent him in the early hours of the morning. She'd not really expected that.

Hello Maddy,

Many thanks for your message, and for recognising yourself. If it was you walking along Crawford Street shortly after midday on a Tuesday in October I think it was, three years ago, then yes, the young woman I met in the street, who stopped and shook my hand, very probably was you, if you remember it too. That's amazing, isn't it, you finding yourself amongst thousands of stories?

I don't know if you were wearing Louboutin heels, that might have been artistic licence because my Madelyn wears them; but you sure knew how to walk in heels. I walk fast, and you easily matched my pace. I still remember the click click of your heels on the concrete path, and the smile on your face as we steered towards each other, to get ahead of those two suits. Your eyes sparkled. It really was a conspiracy!

The conversation in the story, up to the part where Madelyn asks for Adam's business card, was if I remember it correctly, pretty much verbatim. You were the one who stopped and introduced yourself, I was the one who pushed the button at the crossing, saying I didn't know why I did that, as the lights are always on a timer. You touched my arm, I'm sure, just as I wrote Madelyn touching Adam's.

As you can see, you made an impact, that I wrote our little encounter into a long story cycle. I'm glad you enjoyed it - even if you're nothing like my Madelyn! That's okay, I'm not really like my Adam, either :). I do have to wonder, though, what an attractive woman like you is doing on a weekend, reading erotica on a Saturday night? That can't be right, surely not?

Anyway, thanks for reading my work and I'm glad you enjoyed that story - and hopefully some of the others. It's not often readers contact me, and never before a muse! That's special. It's not creepy weird at all - if anything I'm the dodgy one, taking a beautiful woman I met in the street quite innocently, and writing her as a bit of a monster. I'm sure you're not like my Madelyn at all, though. Much nicer, I bet.

But you, take care, and if you're still in the same city as me, keep warm. It's cold where I am, and raining. Brrr.

Best wishes, Adam.

Maddy read the email twice, then a third time, picking apart what he'd written. She noted he signed himself Adam, and she'd definitely met an Adam in the street that day. Having read some of his stories, she thought he might blur the lines between the writer and his character, but he'd also written that he wasn't really like his character. So she sat there, not quite knowing what to think. She wasn't a writer, and had no idea how much Adam might write himself into a piece of fiction, or even if he did.

Then, with something approaching a revelation, Maddy realised she was no different. Adam had written about a fantasy woman, Madelyn, cleverly portraying a duality with the Maddy side of her character. But she, the real Maddy, was not like either fictional portrayal. She was her own self, her singular self; in truth a Madeleine, in further truth a Madeleine Anne, not a Madelyn Jane. With sudden clarity, Maddy understood that, if she met Adam, she'd be as much a mystery to him as he was to her. If she met Adam.

Maddy thought back to the stories she'd read of his, the Floating World series especially, where he'd firmly established his Adam character. She'd found the first one of those by searching the tags, "older man" and "younger woman", knowing full well that in her life, something was missing. Her father had left when she was thirteen and she'd been brought up by a single mum. Maddy didn't need a degree in psychiatry to know that she'd not had a stable father figure in her life.

Jillian, in her usual way, had cut to the core of it. "Maddy, you've got daddy issues. It's so fucking obvious."

"I know that," Maddy had replied. "But what the hell do I do about it?"

Jilly, ever practical, just said, "Silly girl. Go find yourself a charming older man."

Instead, Maddy began looking for erotica. She had one triggering masturbatory fantasy that got her off trembling every time, and she wondered if any writers came anywhere close to capturing that.

She'd found Literotica three years ago, ironically around the time she'd met Adam in the street that day. With some trepidation, she read some daddy-daughter incest stories but found there was little there that she liked; and over time she understood the difference between kink and desire.

Jillian summed it up. "Maddy, you don't want to fuck your father, because he was never there. He, the prick, deserted you. What you want is to be like a daughter to a man you can trust, who will worship you for who you are, and won't piss off on you." Jill's eyes had softened when she looked at her friend. "You didn't have a father, so what you want now is a father figure. That's different, don't you think?"

Maddy had pondered what Jillian had said many times since that conversation, and concluded she was probably right. It didn't help her, though.

Maddy also suspected she was sublimating something when she discovered the buzz of muscle-building at the gym. She wasn't obsessive about it, but she was driven. She felt she knew the difference between obsession and commitment and the line in between, but every now and then, she doubted herself. She thought she was probably hiding something, her sexuality most of all.