Possession

On Monday, after classes, I spotted Greer sitting on a bench by herself. She was reading a book about Artificial Intelligence. I walked over to her.

"Hi!"

She squinted up at me. She wore a tight T-shirt and jeans. I could see the outline of a bra against her shirt. "Do I know you?"

"Yes, I'm -"

"The new girl," she finished. "I remember. Sometimes I kinda tune out."

"Vivienne. You're not possessed now, right?"

"No. Today is Monday. Cindy's day. My day is Thursday." She scooted over. "Have a seat. How'd your first day go?"

I sat down gratefully. "It was really, really weird. She bought me new clothes, paraded me around the mall, and then I ended up escorting some guy."

"Grayson."

"Yeah, him."

"She had me set up that date. Did he, you know, um, fuck you?"

I blushed. It had been my first time. I was still getting used to the idea that I wasn't a virgin anymore, although technically, I hadn't been in control of my own body, so maybe

I

was, still? "Yes," I said.

"Aw, you're blushing, that's cute."

"Yes," I said. "Well," I said.

"Was it good?"

I blushed again.

"He can be a bit selfish sometimes," Greer said. "But then, he's paying for the privilege, so I guess that's fair. I knew because I was possessed when our mutual friend set you up with him. Anyway, sometimes it's a fun time."

"It was a fun time," I admitted.

"You've got questions," Greer said, putting her book in her backpack. "Right? You must have."

"Yeah." I had big questions, but I start out small. "It's weird. Like, getting paid to have sex. She turned me into a whore."

Greer smiled. "That's not a question. But yeah, it's weird. The whole thing is weird. It doesn't ever get less weird. But you... on your time, the other six days, you don't have to do anything you don't want. You can spend all day, every day, in church if you feel so called. It's up to you, no matter what you do on... Saturday, that's your day?"

"Her day, yeah."

"

Her

day?"

"I call her Vivi. Since I usually go by Vivienne."

Greer smiled. "You think she's a her?"

I blinked. "Well, I assumed."

Greer shrugged. "You might be right. I've always assumed the opposite. The clothes she wants to wear. The things she has us do. They all seem to fulfill a male fantasy - I'm not saying they aren't fun, and I'm not saying women don't have some of the same fantasies. Maybe our friend doesn't have any gender at all, when they aren't inside us. Maybe they don't even exist, when they aren't inside us. I don't know. If I ask questions, all they do is dodge. And I've been asking questions for a very long time."

"How long?"

"I was born in London, in 1842. I made the deal with her when I was eighteen and trying to avoid a rather unpleasant betrothal."

"And did you?" I supposed it wasn't the most important thing for me to know, but she couldn't just toss that out there without me having to know.

"I did. They, um, had me sleep with his best friend one Thursday, which brought the whole thing crashing to a halt. Of course, that was the end to any respectability I had, but I made my way. In 1880 I left for the United States, and for a while after that I sailed back and forth every twenty years or so, leaving as a well-preserved middle-aged woman, and arriving as a barely adult girl. Things were looser, back then. Now, IDs, pictures, fingerprints - it's all complicated. But our friend will set you up, when it's time. Money talks."

"In a single day, she can really completely fuck with our life, can't she?"

"Yep. A good row would have accomplished the same purpose. Reputation meant a lot back then, and I could have been 'spirited' - which wouldn't have been a positive for most folks, but would have still been somewhat respectable, instead of 'licentious.' But I don't think our friend has any interest in us being respectable. In fact, I think they have a bit of a sadistic streak in that regard." Greer shrugged.

"Do you regret the deal?"

Greer cocked an eyebrow. "If I did, it would be a bit late to tell you, wouldn't it?"

"Ugh."

"But no, I don't regret the deal. I'd be dead, now, after being married to a dolt and probably bearing him five children. I don't think I'd have died poor, exactly. He was a solicitor, and he'd have managed to keep us afloat with a small country practice. That's all my guess, based on what he did do, with the woman he did marry." She quirked a smile. "I attended his funeral, in 1883. His wife was there - an old, beaten down woman. No one quite knew who I was, or what business a young girl like me had attending a funeral alone given that I didn't seem to know a soul."

A thought occurred to me then. "If she's been possessing people for, well, two hundred years or so, if not more, and the deal is once a week, how is that she had a day open for me? I mean, if indeed we're immortal."

Greer shrugged. "Well, since they are immortal, my guess is that they are in no particular hurry to fill the slots. Or maybe they can't do the thing more than once in a long while. As far as I know, there's just the three of us, although sometimes I wonder if, well, if there are just three of us women, and maybe they have some days when they are a man. And who knows, maybe when they run out of slots, they'd be willing to let us out of the deal. Sometimes I'd like to get out. Other times I simply love life too much for that."

"Well, well. If it isn't my two favorite people!"

I looked up to see the speaker. She was sheathed in a super-tight lime minidress which she filled out with voluptuous curves. She clearly wasn't wearing a bra and probably no panties, because I didn't see any lines on her hips. She had a mane of luxurious red hair, and the deepest green eyes.

Greer nodded. "We were just talking about you," she said. "Vivienne, meet Cindy. Or at least Cindy's body, since it's Monday."

"And a smoking hot body it is," Cindy said.

"You wouldn't offer a deal to anyone who didn't have one, now would you?" Greer said.

"You're acting like I'm shallow," Cindy said. "But no. I wouldn't. Nor anyone too dull, since I have to deal with them chattering at me all day. Vivienne, I've been looking for you. Are you doing okay?"

I nodded, slowly. "I think I am. Saturday was a lot, but..."

"But it was fun, right?"

"Yes," I admitted. "It was fun."

Cindy grinned. "You'll do things you never thought you'd do. It'll be, what do they call it these days? A growth experience."

"Maybe we should talk about some limits for -"

"Nope," said Cindy. "On Saturday, you're mine. You're getting the best part of the deal... I only get to be a girl three days a week, and you get six. Well, I just wanted to check to make sure that you were okay. Places to be, people to do!"

And with that, she sauntered off, with an exaggerated swing to her hips.

"Good luck with that limits thing," Greer said. "Did you notice she said she only got to be a

girl

three days a week?"

"Empasis yours. Doesn't mean she's a boy when she's not a girl," I said. "She might be just, well, nothing."

"Sometimes I wish I could be just nothing when she possesses me."

"Do you?"

"Only sometimes. I need to know what she's been doing with my body, anyway. And... well, I want to know. I... well, she loves fun, and good sensations, and I enjoy feeling all of those. And after a while, you manage to stop being mortified by the perverted things she has you doing."

"Perverted? Like what?"

Greer shrugged. "You'll find out."

"Like what's the worst?"

Greer shrugged again. "Why worry about it? It's not like we have any choice." She looked at her watch. "Gotta run, late for class."

I looked at my watch. "Me too!"

After English 405, listed in the catalog as

The Plays of Shakespeare

, but generally just called

Shakespeare,

John Markham called out to me. "Hey. Vivienne. Wait up!"

I waited. A few people glanced our way, but then moved on. John was a good looking guy, with a square jaw and intense gray eyes, and he came from a rich family. He was, in short, a catch, and girls were interested in what he was up to.

I didn't think anyone was turning to look at me. I had worn a slightly tighter sweater than my usual over-sized ones, which were longer than some mini-dresses and did a better job than this one did at disguising my large breasts. Too large, I'd always thought, but Grayson had liked them well enough on Saturday, and Cindy looked good and hers were even bigger. When Vivi had made me wear a cleavage revealing top, people had definitely looked. I think I was coming to terms with the notion that they weren't totally unattractive, which is why I'd worn the sweater that normally lived I the back of my dresser. Still, if they were looking, I felt it was likely because they were interested in John.

"Hi," I said, when he caught up.

"Viv," he said.

Fine, people had shortened my name that way before. Vivienne could be a mouthful. But just saying my name didn't add a lot to the conversation. So I waited some more.

"I was wondering if you'd like to, um, go out with me tonight. Dinner, movie..."

"Not much of a fan of theaters," I said, not thinking. "Or at least, not movie theaters." What was I doing? John was a hunk, rich, and interested in literature. I rushed the next few words out. "But dinner. Dinner sounds great!"

"Great. Meet at the U?"

He meant the Student Union building. "I can do that. Time?"

"Six?"

"Works for me."

He grinned. "Can't wait to see what you wear on a date," he said. He was thinking of Vivi, at the mall, and her mini-skirt and half-buttoned blouse, I suspected.

"Well, what kind of place are we going to?"

"I was thinking tacos. Unless you had something fancier in mind. We can do fancy, if you want."

I shook my head. Let a man pay for a fancy dinner, and he thinks you owe him something. Not that I minded the idea of the something. In fact, honestly, the idea of skipping dinner and going straight to the something had its appeal. A few days ago, I'd been a virgin, and in some ways, I still was. I'd felt a man entering me, making love to me, but my body had been in Vivi's control. I'd never done it on my own, and now that the genie was out of the bottle, I was curious.

"No, bachelor's fare is fine with me."

"Tacos are bachelor's fare?" he said.

"Bread and cheese. And kisses." My, I was being bold. "According to Jonathan Swift." I liked quotes. I could hide behind a good quote, saying what I wanted to say without admitting it was I who wanted to say it.

"Ah. I thought it was some kind of joke about, well - never mind. Tacos are basically bread, and cheese. And other things."

"Tacos are sandwiches, is that what you're saying?"

"Sure. I guess so."

In twelfth grade Sadie Jones claimed everything was a sandwich. Pizza, even, was just an open-faced sandwich. I remembered the discussion, partly for its absurdity, but also because Colleen Galloway ended it memorably, by saying that two hung guys and her in the middle - now that was a sandwich. Poor Sadie blushed and couldn't keep up her argument anymore.

It was probably more embarrassing that I didn't figure out what Colleen even meant for several days. There's an important distinction between hung and hanged that divides the erotic from the gruesome, and I thought she'd fumbled the grammar and was making some kind of reference to her being like Jesus.

I was very innocent, despite all the reading I'd done.

"Great," John said, and turned away. "See you there."

I walked off, heading back to my dorm to study. Can't wait to see what you wear, John had said. I had an idea of what he meant. John hadn't shown any interest in me before, but on Saturday, he'd seen Vivi. Who he thought was me. Vivi had unbuttoned a white blouse so far that you could make out the edge of my lacy bra. She'd brought a bright red mini-skirt that matched the bra, not the shirt, and ridiculous red heels, and had been walking like a streetwalker through the mall, hips swaying - just like Cindy.

That was the Vivienne John was interested in. But maybe, hopefully, he also liked the girl who could quote Swift at him. He'd quoted Sir Walter Scott to Vivi. Perhaps we'd have an evening of quotations and literary references. That would be delightful.

But not as delightful as kissing.

What would I wear? Part of me rebelled against the idea of dressing for John. The male gaze. But at the same time, I had to admit that I wanted his particular gaze. What was a good feminist to do? A good, horny feminist. A good horny feminist who would probably be under the control of someone every Saturday who, it seemed, would dress me like a slut and whore me out. I couldn't wear the red skirt, because John had seen me in it Saturday and I didn't want him thinking I wore the same thing all the time. I couldn't wear the coral dress, because, well the only other time I wore it I got paid to take it off. It was, in my mind, a whore dress.

I was still thinking about it when I got to my dorm room and saw the pile of packages outside it. They had to line them up against the wall to keep the corridor clear. What the hell? Then I remembered Vivi using my credit card to order stuff online.

I opened my door and started lugging the stuff inside.

"Been on a spending spree?" Marcie asked. Marcie lives on my floor.

"A bit," I admitted. There was nothing less like me than a spending spree.

"Never go online drunk," Marcie said.

"I wasn't - well, maybe a little bit." It was easier than explaining being possessed.

"I never let myself have more than two drinks. Especially on dates. If you drink, don't park. Accidents in cars cause people."

"Um. Good advice. I'm on the pill, anyway."

"You are? I thought you were a good girl." She giggled. "Well, until I saw you Saturday. Good for you. Drink and park all you want, then!"

"Great, Marcie, thanks."

"Here, I'll help you bring the stuff in."

It took us a few minutes, but we got it all inside eventually.

"So, seriously, what is all this?" Marcie asked.

"Clothes, mostly," I admitted.

Marcie half-jumped, half sat on my bed. "I love clothes. Let's see."

I didn't especially want Marcie to see what Vivi had bought, but I would have had to very pointedly throw her out. So, after a moment, I shrugged, got my scissors, and started slicing open packages.

Marcie kept up a running commentary. "Ooh, sexy dress. Will it even cover your ass? Can't wear a bra with that. Garter belts? In the twenty-first century? I think you could get arrested wearing that. Yeah, that's going to bring all the boys to the yard, for sure, especially with your, um, assets. I don't think I'd be brave enough to wear that. You sure have changed. So, are you going to send it all back, now that you're sober? Oh, Vivienne, you can't take that out of the box and not at least model it."

"Model?"

"Yeah model it. Don't be shy. "

I blushed.

"Come on, Vivienne. I've seen you naked."

That was Vivi, not me. She'd bluffed that she'd walk naked to the shower, and I called her bluff. She hadn't been bluffing, and Marcie had seen me in the hall.

I shrugged. Again, I'd have to throw her out. And I did want to see how everything looked, even though I also had an essay to revise for 17

th

century English Lit. I wanted to get the final draft done before my date. In a pinch, I supposed I could blitz it in the morning before class.

So I stripped to my plain white underwear, and started trying on clothes. Short short skirts. Low cut, clingy dresses.

"You can't wear a bra with that one," Marcy pointed out, when I put on a particularly revealing little black dress. I hadn't yet even zipped it up.

She was right. And if I did wear a bra, it couldn't be that one. So I rolled the dress down to my waist and reached around to unclasp the bra.

"I'll get that," Marcie said. I let her. She slid the bra over my arms, brushing the back of her hand against one breast in the process. Then she pulled the dress up, somehow managing to cop a feel in the process.

Helpfully, she zipped me up.

"I wish I had a mirror," I said.

"Well, you have me. Twirl."

I twirled.

"Wow, Vivienne. You look amazing. Good enough to -"

"Hmm?"

She moved so close to me that I could feel her breath on my lips. "Eat."

I had the feeling I'd been missing some serious signals somewhere along the line, but I wasn't missing them now.

"Ever kiss a girl?" she asked.

"No," I said.

"Wanna try?"

It was the sort of thing Vivi would do. In fact, I had no doubt that Vivi would have me kissing a girl soon, and more. Especially if Greer was right, and Vivi was, in some sense, a guy. So I was going to kiss a girl, sooner or later, and the only question was whether I would be under my own control for the first time. Still, I couldn't, on my own, close the very small distance between my lips and Marcie's. So I said, "Sure."

She kissed me. Just pressing lips together, at first. Then a bit of a nibble. Then, she pushed her tongue into the place where my lips met.

Hell, I was going to do it eventually. I put my arms around Marcie and parted my lips. My tongue danced with hers, inexpertly. From the feel of her tongue, she was an experienced dancer. Her hands seemed to know what they were doing, too, slipping into my dress and cupping my breasts. She rolled the nipples softly in her fingers.

I was straight, wasn't I? Then why was I getting turned on?

For the second time, she helped me with the zipper of my dress. Suddenly it felt very unfair that I'd been doing all the undressing. I returned the favor by tugging at her t-shirt until she had to pull her hands away from me for a moment or have it eternally bunched up around her neck. I pulled it off, appreciated the way her demi-bra pushed her breasts up into two beautiful curves for 1.3 seconds, and then unclasped the bra. Her C cups, small compared to mine, bounced out, nipples perkily upright.

"Lingerie. The better it is, the less anyone sees it," Marcie said, in mock regret.

"Does that mean my panties are staying on?"

She laughed. "Well, maybe it doesn't matter how good it is," she said. "Or maybe granny panties don't even count as lingerie." She squatted and yanked the offending garment down.

A few seconds later, we were on the bed. She was groping with one hand, trying to get her pants off with the other. I had two hands free and used one to grab boobs, the other to grab her ass. I still didn't know whether I'd suddenly changed sides or if I was just curious. I didn't have much experience with guys or girls. Possibly, I'd been starved of touch, and now I was feasting.

Speaking of feasting. "You said I was good enough to eat?"

Marcie laughed, finally getting her clothes off. "Yeah, I said that. Spread your legs and I'll prove it."

I did. She did. A man's tongue, a woman's tongue, they couldn't feel that much different from each other, could they? So in a way, it didn't matter who was in between my legs, not if they could do that - and that - and oh my god, that! Her tongue swirled around my clit, alternately teasing and arousing, coy and intense, as if she was tracing arcane sigils over it to ensorcell me.

At that moment, I wasn't sure what 'straight' even meant, because who would turn down sensations like that? "I'm gonna..."

"Yes," she told me, and then her tongue flicked my clit again, no teasing now, just a steady rhythm.

My fingers dug into the mattress, and a moment later, I screamed. I felt fluid gushing out onto my legs, and Marcie kept lapping away as wave after wave of pleasure rolled over me. I shivered, groaned, and finally, pushed at her head.

"Good?" she asked. Her face was wet with my juices.

"Oh yeah. Just... couldn't take anymore."

"Want a turn?"

I wasn't sure that I did. But it seemed fair, so I nodded. We moved about on the little twin bed until her legs were spread and I was between them, and I tried to do to her what she'd done to me. I didn't know any sigils, so I tried going through the Greek alphabet. She tasted tangy, and a little metallic, but not at all bad. Just different.