We don’t sleep, you know. Fairies, I mean. We don’t eat, either, in any traditional sense, although we do kind of rejuvenate ourselves at our spring revival, but that’s a whole other story. Anyway, being up at four in the morning is nothing for us. We’re up all the time. Fateful moments don’t just happen during the day, you know. In fact, quite a lot of them happen just after the bars close, if you know what I mean. Busy time of “day” for us, between two and three in the morning, and during the holidays, it’s ten times worse.
The good news is that I don’t have to avert any accidents for drunks or their possible victims tonight.
The Voice
has sent me somewhere else. I was loathe to leave Anna and her new Beau. No, that’s not a euphemism, that’s his name. Beau. The way they were looking at each other, I thought for sure, if I just hung around a little longer, I’d get to see… well, anyway, I didn’t.
It’s four in the morning, and Henry McCormick is snoring in his bed, and his wife, Irene, is sleeping soundly in her own bed across the hall. They haven’t slept in the same bed in five years, since the last kid moved out to college. I’ve pretty much done everything I can to amuse myself tonight, including freaking out the family dog, at least until he started barking so wildly he threatened to wake the whole house. I tried the TV, but can you believe these people don’t have cable? There’s absolutely nothing on regular TV at four a.m.
Henry’s alarm is due to go off at four-thirty, and I could just turn it off. It would be that simple, except that Irene McCormick has an internal clock that wakes her up at five, and she’s bound to notice that her husband isn’t up and about. That still wouldn’t kill enough time. I check on Henry. He’s snoring loudly, his arm thrown over his head. The sheet he’s got pulled over him is tented in the groin area and I settle myself gently down on the tip of his cock, chin in hand, thinking. It’s a little wet on the sheet where I’m sitting and I wiggle myself there, hearing him groan. Can he feel me in his sleep? I wonder. The thought makes me shiver.
I’m still sitting there, just thinking, when Henry shifts in his sleep, snorts, and reaches for his cock. He nearly catches me, too, when he wraps his hand around the shaft, and I yelp, flying toward the ceiling just in time! He starts moving his hand up and down under the sheet, his breath coming faster in the dark. Fascinated, I float downward, giving him a little push to pull the sheet off so I can see.
“Oh god, Irene,” he whispers. “Suck it, yeah!”
That decides me. It isn’t gonna be easy, but I’m determined. It’s actually a little easier because Irene is still sleeping, curled up and clutching her pillow. I concentrate hard, closing my eyes tight, my whole body vibrating with my effort to give her a “push.” I can hear Henry pumping faster, groaning softly. For a while, I’m sure I won’t be successful, and then I hear the toilet flush across the hall.
