Stranger Things Have Happened

For an instant I thought Heathcliff had somehow developed the ability to levitate, then I realised the

man

was holding him. I blinked, as I often do when I'm surprised and I tried to focus on his face. It was hard to see through the fly screen on the security door and my eyes were still blurred after being jolted so abruptly from my meditation. The

man's

massive body filled my doorway and it was probably a good thing I couldn't see him properly, or I would have lost myself in his eyes and teeth and shoulders.

"Your cat was stuck on the roof, meowing." The man said, his tone was accusing, "Didn't you hear him?"

"Oh no, I didn't, sorry. I was meditating…" My voice sounded slightly muffled as though I was talking with my face hidden under a pillow.

"You meditate? What like Ghandi?" The bronzed Penis God asked.

I didn't need to see his face to know he was sniggering at me and probably derisively too. Cretin. Just because my world doesn't revolve around beer and topless waitresses at the workman's bar.

"Yes I do meditate," I said, in short and clipped tones, "And no, not like Ghandi."

The tone of voice I was using was the most anger I ever showed, not that anyone ever usually noticed. Just for once, I wish I had the courage or temperament to 'spit chips' at someone, like the character Jack Nicholson played in that movie As Good as it gets. I laughed so hard during that movie I had to go to the toilet. Maybe I should try and develop some obsessive/compulsive disorder so that I have the backbone to tell people what I think for once. I opened the door to retrieve my cat and thought that maybe I should just do it now, to Mr. Smug Typical Bronzed Aussie Bloke.

"Thanks." I smiled begrudgingly in his direction and was very careful not to meet his eyes.

Yeah! You told him! Way to go girl!

Shut up.

"No worries. You can make me a cuppa as payment." The man smiled and winked.

He actually winked at me! Who

does

that? Who winks when they are conning a cup of tea out of someone?

I gave him a deadpan look and my eyes locked with his, completely against my will of course. I seriously did not do that on purpose! The last thing I wanted to do was look into those eyes and swoon and make a complete idiot out of myself again when I was trying to work up the courage to spit chips. It was too late though, I'd already looked into those amazing aqua orbs and I couldn't look away. There wasn't much left to do about it, but to admire them and notice that in the shade they were the colour of a stormy sea.

In that moment, I thought I would probably make him anything he wanted…tea, coffee…babies.

I gasped! Where had that come from? Oh please God, don't let me have said that out loud, I swear I will go to church on Sunday and light a candle for every dead relative I have and considering that everyone in my family is at least thirty years older than me, that is a lot of candles. I wondered if I would get a discount if I bought them in bulk.

"You know? Tea?" He reminded me, speaking slowly as though talking to an idiot.

At least it seemed that I hadn't said that I wanted to have his babies out loud because he wasn't running, screaming with horror down the road! Have his babies? Oh good lord! Where was all this crap coming from? I decided that I couldn't wait for the workmen to finished Marge's yard, get out of my doorway and stop saving Heathcliff.

I bet he would throw cute pups though…

STOP IT!

"Oh! Oh sorry, I'm still a little bit dazed I think…you know. Um… visiting with Ghandi and all that tends to leave me a little bit dippy…" I muttered apologetically.

Like you ever AREN'T dippy!

Shut up! I'm trying to concentrate here!

"Tea?" I giggled lamely, "I only have Earl Grey, is that alright?"

I busied myself by reaching for my cat so I could bury my face in his fur and hide my blushing cheeks. I walked toward the kitchen and the door slammed shut behind me with a bang loud enough to hurt my ears. Startled, Heathcliff jumped from my arms. The little air cylinder thing at the top of the door, designed to close it automatically, needed adjusting or replacing, I wasn't sure which.

I half mumbled, half stammered, "Uh, come in, sorry…I forgot about the door."

He smiled a crooked half smile and I felt my heart drop to my feet. All the good I had done by meditating was for nothing. My head was dizzy and my heart was palpitating again. I think I was breaking out in a sweat too. At least I had the presence of mind to stifle the lustful groan that threatened to worm its way out of my mortified mouth when I looked over my shoulder and saw him standing in the middle of my lounge room, looking like some long forgotten God of sex, surrounded by my tasteful 'shabby chic' furniture - for which, by the way, I developed a taste before Sarah Jessica Parker did in Sex and the City.

"It's hot in here…" I fanned my face guiltily. "How do you have your tea?"

"Sweet and creamy like my women." He murmured.

I thought for sure that I was going to have a heart attack. What little presence of mind I had prided myself on retaining, promptly fled.

"Uh, um…so that's one spoon of sugar or two?" I asked, trying to keep my voice level.

"Three."

He stood behind me and trying not to pay attention to how close he was, I put the kettle on the stove. I tried to light the burner but my hands were shaking so much I had as much chance of igniting it as I did of being able to perform brain surgery.

"Here, let me." He said, and he took the matches from my hands.

"Ow!" My finger stung where I had scalded it on my tea earlier.

He furrowed his brows and held my hands. "Did I hurt you?"

I shook my head and tried to pull my hand out of his grip. His calloused skin felt like sand paper rubbing on my burned finger and it freaking killed! God! It was excruciating!

"No." I said, quickly, "You didn't hurt me."

I faked a smile that probably looked more like a grimace.

He narrowed his gorgeous eyes slightly and looked at me again, as though I was a seventeen year old drunk driver.

Oh ye gads…I think I'm going to ... le gasp!

"Show me."

I blinked, "Huh?"

"Your hand." He said.

He curled my fingers over his so that he could examine them. There was a massive blister on the tip of my thumb. Before I knew what was happening, he raised my hand to his lips and kissed the very tip of my finger where it wasn't burned.

I swallowed hard. This isn't real. I must still be meditating …

You are, enjoy.

I swallowed harder. It felt real…as real as…

oh hoe-lee- shit!

He gripped the tip of my finger with his amazingly white teeth and was smiling wolfishly at me. Yes, wolfishly, not wallaby-ishly! He was looking at me as though he was going to eat me alive. I saw the tip of his tongue flick against my finger…

shit

…I thought I must have eaten something I'm allergic to, it's making me hallucinate.

He pulled my hand slightly away from his lips and murmured. "There, all better."

"Huh?" I felt dizzy.

"My mother used to say that a kiss could heal anything." He said with a smoulderingly sexy voice that sounded exactly the same as Russell Crowe did in

The Silver Brumby.

I blinked, yes; my vocabulary was reduced to simple eye movements. Oh God…I'm having a breakdown, or a schizophrenic episode. Too bad a kiss couldn't heal my nervous system.

I turned quickly toward the bench again and reached for my little pottery jar, the one with the little pottery gumnut baby on it, who held a little pottery plaque that read 'Tea'… logically, since it was a tea caddy. Speaking about pottery, I'm seriously going daft, I just know it! I'm going loony!

"Do you like it strong?" I managed to squeak. Yes, I actually squeaked but it's already been established that I had little chance of being picked to star in a movie on the merit of my voice alone.

Suddenly, I felt him lifting my hair away from my shoulders and warm breath washed over my nape. His lips followed; smooth, soft, silky - I froze, on the verge of passing out and tried to remember how to breathe. His breath flowed down my spine and left a trail of goose bumps in its wake, marking a passage that exploded between my thighs like fireworks. I jumped, startled, and this time my jump actually kept up with my startle and didn't resemble a Chinese martial arts movie where the actors lips moved out of sync with their voice overs and a few moments later an American voice says 'You dirty rat!'

"What are you doing?" I sputtered.

He winked at me again and took a few slow steps closer.

"I'm kissing your nervous system better."

My jaw dropped and mortified, I asked, "Did I say that out loud?"

He nodded and raised his eyebrows. He was still moving toward me and I took a few steps back until I was pressed hard against the bench. I was starting to get frightened. Had I let some bizarre serial rapist into my home? I looked at the door, hoping to see if the work crew was still in Marge's front yard and within hear shot of my screams, should I need to make them. I gave him a wary sideways glance.

He was looking at my braless chest again and drawled, "But to kiss your nervous system, I'd have to kiss your entire body, inside and out."

That's it. I'm going to faint, any minute now.

"Not very efficient." He added, and crinkled his nose in a way that made me want to trace the wrinkles with the tip of my tongue, "It'd be quicker if I just kissed the places where bundles of nerves are concentrated…like…."

"My nipples?"

Oh shit! I just know I said that out loud.

He lowered his head toward me and that Russell Crow-ish voice vibrated against my skin.

"...And your neck…" He breathed the words, more than he spoke them. He grazed the length of my jaw with his parted lips and nuzzled my earlobe.

Oh shit…this isn't happening…am I being raped? And if I am, am I insane to be so incredibly aroused that he is rolling my nipple in his teeth? I can't remember the last time I had someone absolutely mung out on my tits. I'm not sure that any one ever has. The one boyfriend I've ever had was so conceited that we only ever bonked in front of a full length mirror so he could look at himself. Maybe he was gay or something, deep down, or maybe I was just so boring and unattractive that he would rather make love to himself than to me.

Oh, what a depressing thought…

My nipple!!!

Hooray for delayed reactions. What I had been prattling on about finally registered in my brain. The

man

was mauling my breasts! I really need to do something to make my actions catch up with my reactions. I must have an imbalance somewhere. I must remember to ask Madame Katrina if there is a crystal that will fix it; maybe hematite would do the trick.

"Stop it!" I grabbed his face with my hands and tried to push his head away from my breast and traitorous nipple, which was now standing at bullet like attention, encircled by a wet mark on my pink dress. I was furious, how dare he? "I don't know what the hell you think you are doing! In fact, what the hell

are

you doing? Because I certainly don't know what's going on! What I do know is that you had better get out of my home before I scream."

He smiled predatorily at me again, "No one will hear you."

I frowned. Ok, I admit it. I was frightened.

"What do you mean?" I scoffed, putting on a brave front, "Don't be ridiculous, of course someone will hear me scream."

He shook his head and leaned back slightly so he could eye me up and down. "No one will hear you. This is all happening in your head."

I opened my mouth to argue and then closed it abruptly.

"Uh…" Nope…still nothing to say, let's try again. I opened my mouth, "I don't believe you…"

Yay it worked!

He slid his massive warm hands up my waist and cupped my braless breasts in his hands. The cold, saliva soaked material of my dress brushed against my sensitive, almost painfully hard flesh and torture my nipples further. The sound of Russel Crowe's voice rumbled in the hollow at the base of my throat and I heard my long rose quartz earrings clink softly.

"I better tell you my name so you can scream it…"

Breathe…

I breathed. "What is it?"

His lips mouthed my arched neck and my eyes rolled back in my head. I decided that it might be fun to have a nervous breakdown after all. At least it seemed I might get off for once.

"Russel Crowe."

"No way!" My eyes flared open and I looked at him sharply. "Really?"

I tried to look at him while he nuzzled my neck but all I could see was the very corner of his lips, which were curling up into a smile.

"Not really," He said, "I just wanted to prove to you that this is all happening in your mind by using something that was floating around in your subconscious."

The corners of my lips turned down as I considered this revelation and I nodded slowly as it sank into my foggy brain.

"Oh ok. So I just enjoy this then?" I asked.

"It's what you wanted…"

"True…but I'm a bit nervous now."

He lifted his head slightly and sealed his lips around my chin. I wonder if it's possible to faint in your mind.

"Don't be," Russel Crowe's voice said, "Just relaxxxxxxx…"

Ohhhhhh ok…..

"What's your name…?" I managed to gasp.

"Alan."

"Easy to remember."

"I guarantee you won't forget it." He growled softly and rubbed his groin against my pelvis.

I could feel his cock almost painfully hard against my hip and I tried to guess how big it was. I know it's not the size of the wand that matters but the magic it weaves. By trying to guess, I was prolonging the pleasure. Like when you get a present and shake it and listen to it before you unwrap it, smelling it and feeling it in an attempt to make the moment last. And I

wanted

to make this moment last because only God knew when I'd get a meditation like this again!

I mean really, let's squeal 'holy shit' at the top of our lungs because here I was, about to enter into the most mysterious and sacred act of devotion, that of worshipping the hallowed phallus! And, I might add, with no chance of having an allergic reaction, getting pregnant, or catching any STDs. From the way my skin was erupting in shivers and goose bumps under his expert hands, I was more than likely going to get off too!

Yippee!

It was…well, it was better than chocolate!

"Be quiet or you'll ruin the moment." Alan murmured with Russel Crowe's voice.

Mmmmm Russel Crowe

. My eyes flared open suddenly. "You aren't going to throw a telephone at me, are you?"

I thought it was a fair enough question. My subconscious was hauling out things I'd either read about or which had left impressions on me, and it was quite a big deal when Russel Crowe hurled a phone at that poor hotel receptionist.

"Shut up." Alan murmmured thickly and closed his perfect, beautiful, berry coloured lips over mine.

That's it. I'm dead, or insane, or have fainted, or am having a drug induced hallucination in some green painted ward in a mental institution that my family had me committed to so they could steal my cat and use him as a stud to get their cats pregnant, so they could develop a genetically modified strain of super Birman that can rescue themselves from rooves, the tops of telegraph poles and stop a moving car with a single claw when sleeping under the wheel arch.

His tongue slid into my mouth and his jaw worked mine open until I could accommodate its entire fat, warm, wet length…

oh fuck

…he could kiss! I think his tongue must have blocked my nasal passages because for some reason, I was having trouble breathing. When panic started to rise in my chest, I reminded myself that I couldn't suffocate on his tongue because this wasn't real! It was all happening in my head!

Oh!!! In that case, I'll just suck on it…oh yeah…that's hot.

He tasted like…marshmallows, the white ones. I can't eat the pink ones; I'm allergic to the raspberry flavouring. My knees turned to jelly, or marshmallow, and I melted against his hard body like a blob of said fluffy white stuff does when it's held in the fire on the end of a sharp stick. I knew what I wanted to be impaled on, that's for sure!

He broke the kiss but it seems I had another delayed reaction in realising it because I couldn't move. I remained in the kiss-ee position, head dropped back, and eyes closed, mouth parted slightly with desire. I realised eventually that I must have looked like a prize idiot. I tried to move, with the intention of arranging myself with some dignity, but Alan's face remained hovering over mine. A thin glistening strand of saliva still held us joined. He slid out that magnificent fat, wet, pink tongue with no artificial colours or preservatives, which I'd nearly lost myself over when I'd sucked it down my throat, and licked the strand slowly, deliberately from my bottom lip.

I didn't dare look at his eyes incase I lost all control, so I focussed on his high cheek bones instead, his square jaw, the little cleft in his chin. Oh ye gads! I loved men who had clefts in their chin. Funny I hadn't noticed it before because there isn't much that's hotter than that, apart from long black hair or big square shaped hands. Speaking of which, one of said hands was stroking my cheek with the back of its thick fingers and that magnificent, massive thumb danced in front of my lips.

I wanted to suck it.

"Let's take this to your bedroom." Alan murmured thickly.

I chewed my lip and nodded, slid my hands over his bulging biceps. He was now wearing black leathers, no shirt and the cement dust was gone and…oh yeah …hot… the

epitome

of hot…black leathers…

rawr!

"I can't move." I gushed.

He enveloped me with his massive, muscle bound body and lifted me until I could wrap my legs around his waist. Thankfully, I didn't squeak. Even though this was a figment of my imagination, I had my pride.

"Oomph!" That's the exact noise I made when he dived onto my bed with me still attached to his body like an over grown baby Koala. I thought that 'oomph' was just a word authors used when they couldn't think of a poetic way to describe the sound of air being knocked out of their character's lungs. But people actually do make that sound.

My stomach felt cold and realising that he wasn't laying on me, I opened my eyes.

…And closed them again immediately.

Alan was standing over me, between my legs, which were dangling over the side of the bed and he was

looking

at me! How embarrassing! It was the afternoon too, so my room was flooded with sunlight. I couldn't even tell him to turn the lights off so he couldn't see me! I quickly shot my hands down to my thighs to check that my dress hadn't ridden up so far that I was flashing my undies.

My eyes flared and panicking, I tried to remember which panties I'd put on after showering. I hoped they were my Friday night set, the expensive French lace ones that cost me a small fortune, which I bought for the sole purpose of wearing on Friday night at the pub in case I picked someone up. Not that I had ever done so. I was far too cowardly. I hoped I wasn't wearing my comfy home body undies - the big white ones with little blue flowers on them that I wear when everything else is in the wash because I've been too busy to do the laundry.

I frantically cast my mind back to when I got out of the shower, yes, I see it! I turned the faucets off, dried myself and wrapped my hair in a towel, put oatmeal lotion on my legs because I'd just shaved them and anything else gives me a rash…reached for my pink dress… and yes I can see them! Lying on my bed, hidden under my dress ready for when I got out of the shower…