A New Bow for Cupid

** Author's Note: I've been thinking about this year's valentine's day contest for a few days now. I was browsing the rules about the contest and came across the forum - Valentine's Day Contest 2008 Support Thread. Near the end, at least on the day I was there, one person asked for a point in the right direction. Someone else replied: A challenge: build a Valentine's Day story on "it was a dark & stormy night";

An opening line: She looked at him in disbelief. "I was born at night, but it wasn't last night!" Well, it feels a lot like eavesdropping, since I don't usually do anything on the threads, but as I pondered that challenge, it suddenly occurred to me that it'd be a great place to start with the half-baked ideas I'd been tossing around. So, here it is. I apologize if anyone's offended, especially those members in the discussion I 'eavesdropped.' I did make one change I hope bothers no one. I started with "I." instead of "She."

*

I looked at him in disbelief.

"I was born at night, but it wasn't last night!"

Thunder rocked the rickety old apartment building, the retort emphasizing my words perfectly. I stood in the elevator, glaring at the idiot in front of me while the lights flickered. I glanced around at the seedy, green paneling in the elevator and considered taking the stairs. Elevators never fall in a storm, but after a most horrible Monday, I expected nothing less.

"No, really," he said, a quirky smile rippling across his lips. I tell you, he was a gibbering idiot, but I couldn't turn away from that smile. It was preternatural, like an elegant, dignified wolf lurked behind his mouth. I expected a long, canine tongue to loll out any moment. I shifted on my feet, the weight of my bow-case pulling on my shoulder.

"Look," I snapped. "I don't have time for this. It's been like the worst day ever, so, please, just go away."

The worst day ever. I screwed up my college algebra exam that morning. I had a test every other week, and my grades were fair, but I was hyped about my archery contest that afternoon. I'm pretty good with a bow. I shoot recurves. I never liked the compounds. They look neat, but to me, somehow, all the technology and gears and gadgets takes the sport out of archery. As I said, I'm pretty good. I'm the best in my club, and in the less formal contests the clubs around New York City, I'm more or less accepted as the best. Just like on my test, though, I bombed the contest. Most of my shots were in the four and five rings, rather than the nine and ten where I normally shoot. I didn't even come close to the final round. I almost cried, and I never cry. Well, not in public.

The elevator doors started to close, but the guy in front of me blocked the doors with his hand, reached inside, and pushed the button for my floor without looking.

He wasn't bad looking. Taller than me, but still probably short for a guy, with curly black hair. His ancestors might have been Italian. Sort of lazy blue eyes under sleepy lids and a smile that might have been pleasant had he not been so smug.

"I know you had a bad day," he said. "Let me guess, it's Valentine's Day and none of the boys you know can handle your bow."

I glared at him. "Thanks for reminding me. What's that line? Oh, yeah, something about lemon-juice. Come on, let me go." I looked pointedly at where his hand was keeping the elevator doors occupied.

He stepped into the elevator. Suddenly it was like he was larger than life. I didn't recognize the names on his clothes. They were chic, but nameless, fashion-less, like he might have fit into any party between now and 1950. It was strange, like his grin. He wasn't all that close, but I felt like his breath was on my neck, on my ear. My tummy burned, as if the best boyfriend I ever had was putting a hand down my panties. Except I never had a best boyfriend. And none of them liked me enough to put their hands in my drawers. I swallowed, looked away, waited.

"And your luck in school is at a despicable low," he continued. "Your mother thinks you're a slut even though you're a virgin, and your father wants to molest you. Close? Tell me I'm wrong."

I stared at the floor. "You've been spying on me." My face burned.

"I spy on everyone. It's a quirk of the job, actually. But I really meant what I said before. I can get her for you."

Her. He was talking about her again. Jennifer Bridges. I know, I know, a girl. She's twenty, and two years older than me. She's got these wonderful sky-blue eyes I practically drool over. And that hair. Long, brown, tight curls, dancing like Slinkies hanging around her cheeks, over her shoulders. It's so lame, so lesbian, so 1990's, and yet there I was. We hung out sometimes, but she had no idea about my feelings. I'd never tell her. She's straight. I saw her with guys sometimes. She always had a good time with them. And I was alone.

Alone on Valentine's Day.

Lighting struck outside, and the building shook. It never stormed like this in February. Thunder and snow? The tremors made their way into the elevator via the cables. I thought again about those stairs. Maybe this guy would leave me alone if I made him climb twenty floors to follow me.

The doors closed behind him. He smiled again. "Let's go to my place. I'll show you how to get her."

"That's inventive for a pick-up," I snapped. "How many girls like that one? Yes, I can tell you're in love, now come with me. Works out a lot, I'll bet."

He shook his head. "You don't understand. I'm not hitting on you. I swear. Look, I have a bow too."

I didn't know where he hid it. I always make fun of guys in movies that wield swords yet never seem to carry them around. Jokes about exactly where those weapons hide are never-ending. Now, though, I was face to face with the real thing. He had a bow, a beautiful bow like nothing I'd ever seen, and yet, just a second ago, his hands had been empty.

The thing gleamed, like polished silver, only brighter somehow, as if lit from within. The string could have been polished gold, and shined. The cord was straight, not slack like a prop. It was an old-style recurve, not so different from my bow. I could see no manufacturer's plating or logos.

Okay, at this point, he had a lot more of my attention. Who was he? Why would he talk to me about Jenny Bridges? Why would he have a bow like this? Hell, I'd be afraid to shoot it. It probably cost more than my college tuition.

His smile broadened, like showing an old friend a good movie. The elevator doors opened again, and I realized we were on the roof. Snow covered everything, drifted into the elevator with the gusting winds. Thunder rumbled after a flash of lighting, echoing strangely from the ground. I had taken my coat off in the lobby, and now I shivered.

"Your place is a little drafty," I muttered.

He put one hand on my shoulder to guide me out of the elevator. Suddenly I wasn't so cold anymore. That best boyfriend I never had was putting his hand down my panties again. I burned inside, and my stomach felt tight.

"Come over here," he said, and guided me out onto the roof, towards the banister at the edge. I walked with him a ways, but I stopped a few feet away. Vertigo gripped me, replacing my arousal with a touch of dizziness.

"It'll pass," he told me. "Come over here and look."

I shook my head.

"I can see Jennifer from here."

Jennifer? Walking somewhere in this stormy winter weather. I joined him and looked down. Distant, miniature, the people on the ground hardly resembled people. How could he see Jennifer?

He moved around behind me, placing one hand on my shoulder and reaching over the other shoulder with his other arm, pointing a few blocks down the street. I know his hands were on my shoulders. I felt them. At the same time, my arousal sprang back in full force. That imaginary best boyfriend thing. It was somebody was putting their hands on me, touching me, stirring me. I felt wet in my core, and my breasts hurt at the tips, hurt so sharply, but it was such a sweet pain. My breath came short, as if there just wasn't enough oxygen in the air.

As if my arousal had a direct effect on my vision, I could suddenly see much clearer. I felt like I was looking through a sniper's scope, sort of, as my eyes somehow zoomed down over Jennifer's shoulder. She walked along, her head down, her hands in her pockets. It was almost like seeing a different girl with the same face. Men passed her on the street, appraising her good looks even in the foul weather. She cringed when thunder rumbled overhead, and one man around her almost reached out towards her. I could see their attraction to her, but in this peculiar, enhanced vision, their interest made me hot, hotter than I already was. My clothes became too constricting. My hair clung to my neck, teasing my skin. Heat swam in my shirt, currents shifting around my breasts, down in my pants. I looked down on Jennifer, watched her posterior sway as she walked, and I thought I would melt.

The boy from the elevator shifted behind me. His breath came hot on my ear. My spine prickled with heat and moisture. How could I sweat in this foul weather. Bits of snow flurried around my face - snow and thunder, in February, and I lost track of Jennifer. I knew his hands were on my shoulders, but I swear, I felt one reach around and caress my breast. I tried to focus on the girl of my dreams. The memory of her butt swishing made me close my eyes and groan, and suddenly I felt weightless, suspended in dream. I felt the boy's erection against the bare curve of my back.

A long, slow breath through my mouth. Another.

His manhood was on my skin. My bare skin. I admit, it took quite a bit longer than it should have for the strangeness of that fact to catch my attention. First, for sure, as he nestled himself on the top of my posterior, along the groove of my lower spine, I entertained the notion of his sliding lower, oh so exquisitely lower, and into me. I had been so empty, and being filled by someone, touched by someone, held a mesmerizing promise that overwhelmed my innate, pessimistic curiosity.

The other thing, the thing about the whole scenario from the bottom of the elevator ride onward, was that it all felt so right, as if I knew this young man, knew his piercing eyes and curly black locks well. Perhaps even intimately. Worse, the rooftop, seeing Jennifer from so far away, even the mysterious silver bow, all felt right, as natural as a spring rain.

And why couldn't I catch my breath. He shifted his length along my skin, minutely, but in anticipatory imitation of intercourse. Such a subtle thing, the tiny thrust of his organ, until he jutted into the small of my back. His breath remained hot in my ear as I floated beneath him. I felt liquid, as if he could swim in me, as if I could be poured.

"Welcome," he whispered in my ear.

"What?"

"Welcome, Cupida. On behalf of our lord, god, and master, Eros, I bid you welcome into the ranks of his impassioned servants. You are cupid, my Love, servant of lust, desire, passion, and love. Eros has chosen to make you his own."

Before I could even think to try to absorb what he had just said, he took one of my hands and whirled me like a dancer. I spun, sailing out over the street. Yet, I did not fall. Nor did I panic. I should have. It would have been so easy to look beneath me towards the street and scream. I did neither. Instead, I was looking at his body. The boy had changed. His clothes were gone. His hair gleamed with a light it had not possessed before. His erection jutted between his legs as he looked at me, a satisfied smile lighting his angelic face.

Eventually, it dawned on me that I was naked too. Thunder shook the city while snow fell around us, and I hovered, naked as a newborn, floating over a down-town street in New York City. But oh, how I had changed too. My skin was flawless. My breasts, once undersized and sagging, now stood full, not larger but full. My hips were not quite so flabby, and my now smooth bikini region had tightened up, less skin, more gently parted vagina. I panted, feeling more aroused than ever in my life.

With a slight dip, the boy joined me over the street, took my hand, pulled me in a graceful, languid arc towards the street in Jennifer's direction. We drifted easily. I know I should have been afraid, but I was much to hot on the inside to be scared.

He met my eyes. He smiled. "I know how you feel," he said, his voice clear and low, sultry for a man, all the more arousing. "Believe me, I know exactly how you feel. But, I'm your trainer, so for now, we have to behave."

A few moments ago, I would have taken offense at his presumption. Now, it startled me only because I realized how badly I wanted to wrap my legs around him and impale myself on his lovely organ. My body responded instantly. I grew moist, like honey brewed between my legs. My skin prickled. Even his fingers holding my own became arousing. I still breathed in short, quick breaths. Ah, how I hungered.

We touched down lightly on the sidewalk. The concrete should have been rough and far too cold. I hardly felt it. The sand and cement and bits of wet slush teased my soles, rather than abraded. I spread my toes as I stood there, aroused even by my bare feet. Men and woman walked past us, around us but never seeing us. My hands were over my breasts, but after a moment I dropped them. I was too hot to care. My insides boiled. I expected to leak honey any second.

"Eros' blessing," the boy laughed. "People see us, but they ignore us. Until you put your lust away and return to your natural body, you cannot be seen by mortals."

I walked in front of a woman passing nearby. She moved around me. I cut her off. She glanced at me as if I was just another person on the street. She didn't even get aggravated as I cut her off again. I stopped toying with her, let her move on down the street. I grinned. I was naked in New York.

"Now," the boy continued, "there is fun. Oh yes, fun, fun, fun. But, there is also a sort of responsibility." He produced that bright, gleaming bow again. "We have work, of a sort, to do. Look. Look at them all around you. Touch them. Go ahead. That man there, at the corner. Put your hand in his shirt. His pants, if you want."

I did as he instructed, feeling guilty over invading the stranger's personal space. I walked behind him, wrapped my arm around him, put my hand over his hairy navel. He straightened, though for all other intents he seemed unaware of my presence.

"We're taught as children that we cannot touch just anybody." The boy zipped up behind me as I slowly reached into the stranger's pants. My inhibition fled under the dual onslaught of the boy's voice and my own budding lust. I touched the stranger, felt his manhood between my fingers, felt him throb and stiffen.

I suddenly felt stronger. Without even knowing what I was doing, I flew upwards in a spiral, laughing as the snow and wind rushed over my body, cool but not cold, arousing but not nearly enough. My new friend followed me, laughing, until finally I stopped. I flew to him, caught him, settled my sex over his.

And suddenly he darted backwards, out of my reach.

"Oh, no," he laughed. "Not yet, love. Our work is not done, and we're not to play until the work is done."

I might have felt miffed at his refusal, before, but now, I just laughed and spiraled again. After a few seconds, I began to slow, feeling more tired.

"There," he said, suddenly just beside me. "The drain. Weakness. Flying is hard. Lust requires energy. Our energy comes from ourselves, but it must be stimulated, you see. Down there, the woman in black. Touch her. Share her skin, the way you did that man."

I darted to her, spinning like a diving World War II airplane in one of those old movies. I laughed and laughed, and then, when I was behind the strange, blonde woman dressed in a long, black, leather coat, I whipped around in front of her, pushed my hands into her coat, and found she was naked beneath. My hands closed on her breasts. I felt her nipples beneath my thumbs, and she gasped. I quivered, my sex boiling, and all the strength I had lost, and a fair amount more besides, returned to me in an instant.

I released the blonde, and she fixed her coat as if nothing had happened, yet her eyes almost glowed. I had touched her. Not just her skin. She was aroused. Her eyes roamed over the street, taking in the other pedestrians, hungry and sensual and beastly and angelic all at once. My belly seethed, my legs longed to spread, to touch my sex to someone, anyone.

"You're getting the hang of it," my friend said. "Lust, and passion, and even love, are our energy. The beauty of it is that we are mirrors. We are strengthened by the lust around us, without taking their energy from them. Eros is a very wise god. You must remember this."

I laughed, then darted off between cars, zipping along the street.

"I thought cupids had wings," I said, laughing, when he caught up to me.

"Only our best, my love. Only our best. Those with the gifts and understanding to join our lord in his own realm. I hope to be such a cupid, one day."

"What's your name?" I asked him as I wrapped myself around him again. This time, I approached him from behind, glued myself to his back. His buttocks pressed into my groin, and his manhood filled my hands.

"Yes, I was right. You're a quick learner. But have you forgotten Jennifer?"

I released him, realizing how I had been acting, and slowly, I drifted towards the sidewalk beneath us. By the time I touched the ground, my old body was back, clothes and all, and I felt lifeless, almost non-existent. I had betrayed Jennifer. I had touched other people. Three of them now. And the sad part was that I wanted to touch more.

When the boy cupid joined me again, he, too, was dressed, normal.

"You see. Now you've run the gamut of our transformations. When your lust fades, so does your power. It can be addictive, but the only harm is in your responsibilities in the mortal world. I have few, so I can do whatever I want. You have people, a few relatives, that you wish to be with. You have to keep your mortal life going, for that. You have to blend in with them. Don't worry, though, you can take many, many breaks while serving Eros."

I swallowed. "So what about Jennifer?"

He looked almost sad. "There's the conundrum. You're a cupida. You love everyone. You lust for everyone, all the time. You cannot get sick, nor pregnant. The diseases you might risk as a mortal can no longer touch you. And only our lord can impregnate you. Believe me, it takes a truly, wickedly naughty girl to get his attention for that. Just remember, if you dally in mortal form, though, all the risks remain."

I shook my head. "I don't want to love everyone. I want to love Jennifer."

"You can't turn off the lust, dear. None of us can. Can you live with her, knowing that soon, maybe within minutes, you'll be touching, loving, someone else? Can you kiss her goodbye on your way to class, knowing you'll be having sex before you get to school, maybe? Can you come home at night to her, with the memory of a dozen lovers filling your thoughts? If your love is stronger than all that, then maybe there's a chance."

I looked at the ground. I grinned. It had been fun dashing through the air, nude, weightless. "What do I do?"

"Well, we have to get back to that work thing, first. Then I'll help, I promise."

I looked at him, watched as in a blink his cupid form returned, nude, erect, angelic.

"What's your name?"

"My mortal name is Matt. To you, am Cupido, as you are Cupida. We, and hundreds others just like us, serve Eros together."

"Matt," I whispered. His erection distracted me. I gave in, swam in the hunger, the burning between my legs becoming liquid heat. In a flash, I, too, had changed. I flew upwards, reveling in the freedom, both of flight and nudity. Now, transformed, it was difficult to understand how I could feel so ashamed of my wanton nature. Desire was as natural as breathing.