Midsummer-Night's Dreaming

This is the second story about the adventures of Puck the Fairy in today's world. The first story related the happenstance of his return from a long exile, but now that he's back, I thought I would relate another tale as told to me by the Bawd of Stratford (that other guy you might be thinking of was before my time). It's a long, involved romance, but doesn't all romance lead to good things in the end? Thanks to RexBrookdale for help with the editing.

*

Jake held Anna's head as he thrust his cock into her mouth. Faster and faster he pumped as his excitement mounted, punctuating each thrust with those little 'unh, unh, unh!' grunts that Anna found so annoying. He gripped her head, his hands pushing himself in as deeply as he could, but fortunately his cock was relatively small and it stopped just short of choking her.

Her thoughts ranged back to her last boy friend, Terry. Or, had he been the one before that? Anyway, Terry too had liked to use his hands while he jammed his cock down her throat. She'd warned him about going too deep, but one night in the heat of passion, he'd lost control. He had managed to get his cock to spew, but his small spurts were lost amongst Anna's spew after his cock triggered her gag reflex. In fact ... now that she thought about it, that disaster marked the last time she had been with Terry. "Hmmmm," she accidently hummed out loud around Jake's cock in her momentary perplexity about Terry.

Jake stiffened and gave one more deep thrust as he came. Now fully alert and focused again on the present, Anna closed her throat in time and managed to keep the first squirt of cum from gagging her. She felt a second and third spurt, and then there was no more. "Another successful blow job," she silently congratulated herself.

After several more slow strokes, Jake pulled his cock from her mouth and stretched his arms over his head. He gave a big sigh. "Oh, babe! You do good work."

Anna smiled up at him from where she knelt on the floor. "Good. I'm glad you liked it." She stood up and moved over to sit down on the edge of the bed. Letting her legs splay apart, she displayed her sex to him. With her right hand she stroked between her legs. Jake wasn't much for foreplay, but giving a good blowjob always left her aroused. "Now, what about me?"

"Aw hey, babe. I'd love to. I really would. But, you knew da' Bears are playing tonight, and now it's almost time for the kickoff."

Yeah. She knew, but she'd hoped the thought of some good sex would distract him enough so she could at least have some fun too. She sighed. Well, it wouldn't be the first time.

Picking up her robe, she watched as he pulled on his boxers and his old Chicago sweatshirt. Jake believed in dressing up for his team. She shrugged into the robe as he hustled out the door. She could always count on him being in a hurry for football.

She sat back down on the bed and waited for the sound of the TV to come on. Jake would be glued to the set for at least three hours except for breaks to get beer. Those, plus the breaks he took to get rid of his previous beer.

Settling back against the pillows, her hand drifted down and found the opening in her robe. Well, if Jake wouldn't do the job, she could at least make herself feel good.

** * * * *

A noise startled her awake. At least, she thought it was a noise. Had she really heard.... What had she heard? She lay there in the dark and listened closely. She could still hear the faint murmur of the TV. Had Jake fallen asleep in front of it again? Noises of that sort would not have awakened her, however.

Suddenly she recognized the scrape of a chair being pushed across the vinyl kitchen floor, followed a scant second later by a low, rumbling, growling sound. A primal fear gripped her heart. The sensory stimuli in her subconscious brain, honed by eons of evolution, responded to the sound of a predator. She had just filled her lungs and was about to scream, when another scream upstaged hers.

"Jesus Christ, a mother-fuckin' mountain lion!! Stay the hell away from me, you mother-fucker!"

Anna was frightened, but even as she felt prickles of fear coursing down her arms, her mind conjured an image of Jake, his modest paunch supported by skinny legs sticking out of his navy and burnt-orange boxers, trying to fend off the animal with a kitchen chair. Jake the lion tamer.

She heard more crashing and banging from the other room, but couldn't summon the courage to even get under the bed or flee to the closet. Instead she cowered under the covers. Finally she heard the front door open and slam shut.

Then it opened again.

"Some joke, bitch," Jake yelled. "You can stay in this mother-fuckin' apartment with your mother-fuckin' pets -- " his rant was interrupted by a roar and the sound of the door re-slamming shut. The next moment, she heard the latch turn again. "And just see if I ever come over to show you a mother-fuckin' good time again." What Jake's vocabulary may have lacked in variety, he made up for in feeling.

This time, the sound of the door as it slammed held a note of finality.

It took a minute before she'd finally caught her breath. Jake was out the door and safe, but what about her? Her bedroom door was only shut partway, and there was a mountain lion in her apartment. A mountain lion? In New York? She'd heard the roar, and Jake had evidently seen the animal, but despite all of the evidence it didn't make it any more believable.

A faint wisp of sound came from just outside her bedroom door. The barest brush of ... fur? The door creaked open a fraction of an inch.

"Hello?" she ventured. "Nice kitty. You don't want anything to do with me, do you?" She felt stupid talking to a wild animal like it could understand, but at the moment she was woefully short of good ideas. She heard a tiny answering "Meow," and the door eased open, revealing a small cat's head near the bottom corner. The door made a faint creak as her cat pushed on through. "Mr. Peanut? What are you doing? I mean, what was going on...?"

All semblance of rational thought vanished once her gaze rested on the small figure of a man astride the back of her cat, the pencil he carried under his arm pointing forward like a lance. He gave a jaunty wave as the cat padded into the room, then dismounted with a nimble hop. He swept off his hat, stood the butt of his 'lance' on the ground, and bowed low, leaning on it as would a medieval knight arriving triumphant from campaign.

"Puck? Is that you?"

"Who else would it be, fair Anna? Yet it has been so long since we last talked, I am surprised you still remember me."

"I was in, what? In.... Fifth grade, or something? I remember, but I'd always thought you were something I'd imagined." She had done a lot of imagining in those days. Living inside her own head had been easier than coping with real life.

Puck scratched his head. "I believe you had stated eleven as your age."

"Yeah, fifth grade. And now you're back to ... do what? Play tricks on me?"

"No, no, no, fair lady. Old Puck is a trickster, right enough, but you saved me, and for that I am ever in your debt. I explained all that when you freed me."

"I sort of remember you saying something about your 'duty to be of service to me', but I know a lot more about you now. After I met you, I started looking up stories about you."

"As a creature of 'myth' — big-people's myth, I might add — that is all that you will find about me. Stories. I recommend the Bard's. His was one of the funniest."

"Yeah, we read A Midsummer Night's Dream in junior high. I got a B on the test because I kept getting Shakespeare's story confused with stuff you told me. Thanks a lot."

Puck smiled. He laid the pencil aside and came over to the side of the bed. Effortlessly he hopped up to where she lay, followed a moment later by the cat. "Maybe you should have made up some stories of your own. That would at least have been more fun." He did a little cartwheel and flopped down on the bed.

Mr. Peanut settled up against her thigh. Anna could feel his warm body through the light blanket covering her. He looked up at her hopefully and gave two purrs, a clear signal for a head scratch.

Anna, however, ignored him and continued talking to Puck. "So ... what brings you to New York, Puck?"

The cat gave up, laid his head down with a quiet sigh, and closed his eyes.

"You, you, and you!" Puck gave a tinkling little laugh and skipped up to sit beside the pillow she'd clutched to her middle. "It is time for me to repay you for freeing me from that trap of cold iron. I am sorry I took so long, but now I have a gift truly worthy of your good deed."

"Oh, pooh. It was just an old coon trap." She shifted to sit up against the headboard.

Mr. Peanut looked up at her with reproach when she'd moved her leg away; with utmost grace he stood, took a step closer, and plopped down firmly against her leg again.

Anna leaned on the pillow closer to Puck. "So what did you bring me?"

Puck made a dismissive gesture. "I bring not material goods, my lady. No, for you I bring the gift of love. True love."

"I had a love," she said disgustedly. "You chased him off."

"Mr. Peanut chased him off. I just helped a little. Besides that, this 'Jake' person was not your true love. No! But I have found the love of your life: a handsome, successful, man of the world." This last was spoken with an Elizabethan flourish worthy of the stage at the Globe.

"Fancy that," she replied skeptically. "Nope. No man like that would ever be the love of my life. He would take one look at me and leave."

Puck frowned. "Fair Anna, it upsets me to hear you speak so. You are a rare beauty. The deep pool of your love will bring such joy to his life."

"I wish. I'm a tall, skinny, freak. My nose is too small, my cheekbones are too high, my eyes bug out, and my hair never lays flat. My mother was right. I should be thankful for any man who looks my way."

"Anna, Anna, Anna," Puck sighed. "I have heard your mother berate you over the years and never understood it. Was she so unhappy over her own failure with your father that she had to bring you down, too?" He shook his head. "I have never been able to apprehend why you big folk work so hard to make each other unhappy."

She was startled to hear Puck say he had seen her and her mother. "You've been spying on me all this time?"

"Since my quest was to find and give you the gift of true love, I had to see what kind of woman you were going to grow into." He looked up at her, and his expression brightened. "I cannot wait for him to meet you."

"Okay, so you've got some guy all lined up for me, but he'll take one look at 'Ugly Anna' here, and be on his way."

Puck raised himself to full height, his small face inches away from hers. "I can see this is going to take work. I knew he had some obstacles, but I expected you to be more receptive. Hmmmmmm." Releasing her from his gaze, he retreated to the edge of a pillow and sat down on it, tapping his finger on the side of his head in thought.

Anna snorted. "He has some obstacles? What ... like a girlfriend? Ohoho, even better. Why don't you send your mountain lion over to eat her or something?"

He smiled. "What mountain lion? There is no mountain lion. I just work with whatever comes to hand." Puck looked back at Mr. Peanut, who had chosen that moment to exemplify the epitome of ferocious Felis domesticus with a long, luxurious cat stretch. Sitting back on his haunches, he yawned in her direction, and suddenly Anna was looking into the gaping maw of a huge cat.

Startled, she jerked back, but even as the bed rocked and Mr. Peanut almost abandoned ship, Puck never flinched from his deep contemplation. "Yes, this could be a challenge," he mused aloud, stroking his chin. "Yet, my debt must be paid," he said chivalrously. He tapped his finger reflectively against his cheek for a long moment. "You worry that the love of your life will not see your beauty," he concluded.

"See my beauty? I look about as pretty as the backside of a bulldog. He'd have to be blind as a bat."

Puck frowned and shook his head. "So little confidence. So little pride." He furrowed his brow, then perked up and held up his index finger. "Wait one moment, beautiful Anna."

Anna saw him turn and vanish into thin air, only to reappear a moment later holding a sort of paper envelope in his hand. "Beautiflora blossoms." He held them up proudly. "I had to go all the way to a fjord in northern Norway to find them this time of year, but they are just what you need."

Dubious yet curious, she took the proffered envelope, opened the flap, and spied a number of small, pink flowers inside. Each had five petals. They were pretty — in a flowery sort of way. She poked one tentatively with a finger. "Magic flowers?"

"Nonsense," he replied with a cryptic smile. "Everyone knows there is no such thing as magic. Eat one of those each morning, and you won't have to think about your beauty for all the day."

"Just like everyone knows there's no such thing as fairies, right."

"Anna." Puck shook his head, rolling his eyes in mock-despair. "I must take my leave now, but just remember, I do this to make you happy." With a nod and a slight bow, he turned on his heel, skipped over the covers to the edge of the bed, and hopped off. She'd expected to see his retreating form as he crossed the room heading for the door, but after his leap there was neither sight nor sound of the little fairy.

Anna took a deep breath followed by a yawn, and looked down at Mr. Peanut nestled up beside her. What had happened here tonight? Her memory of recent history was all perfectly clear, but it was clearly impossible. She lay back against the pillows and almost laughed at herself. Fairy stories? For a long time she pondered the absurd events which had taken place all within the span of a few minutes, trying to build some rational explanation. Her fingers fiddled with the little paper envelope containing the flowers. Which was more unbelievable: that she had been talking to Puck the fairy, or that she would find the love of her life?

But before she could come to any satisfactory conclusion, she had drifted off to sleep.

** * * * *

Anna was busy at her desk at A-B-C Publishing the next morning, working on a collaborative ad project with a looming deadline when Tyler Bancroft, the 'B' in A-B-C Publishing, poked his head into her office. "Ms. Kistner, could I borrow you for a few minutes? We have a project we'd like you to get involved in."

"Yes, sir. With you in one." You didn't say no to the boss. Besides, she had things well in hand. The American Booksellers Association's annual BookExpo in Chicago was a month away, and she was ahead of schedule, already finalizing the details on her assignments for it. She quickly checked her work and updated her status, then logged off. As soon as her connection logged out she headed for Bancroft's corner office, down the hallway of cubicles. She walked along oblivious to the usual muted murmur of the office around her as she puzzled over what the new project might entail.

Bancroft was never one for idle chit-chat, and plunged right in. "Since you did such a good job organizing the promotion for the book Harold and the Rumbly, Bumbly Tummy, we'd like you to work with Gerhard Muntz on the promotion of his latest book of world photos."

"Muntz?" she echoed weakly.

"You remember him. He was at the big A-B-C Authors reception we had back in January. He did the slide show on women victims of violence in the Middle East. The guy who was shot at by the Saudi prince?"

She remembered. And gulped. Oh, how she remembered. Conjuring up images of his chiseled good looks was part of her favorite masturbatory fantasies. "Uh, yes sir," she managed.

"Good. We're planning two editions of his latest collection. One will be a regular coffee table format we'll put in all the stores, but we think a special price-plus collector's edition with hand-signed prints could give us some frosting on the cake." Bancroft looked across at her as he tapped on his computer keyboard. "He lives here in New York, and I just emailed you his contact information. I want you to start working with him right away on a marketing campaign for the BookExpo."

The prospect of working with Gerhard Muntz terrified her. She'd only seen him from afar, never up close and ... personal. He was so good looking, and now she was to be responsible for making his latest work successful. She would end up slobbering all over him, whereas he would take one look at her and.... "I'm really not sure I know that much about marketing collector's editions," she interjected, lamely trying to find a graceful way to actually tell the boss 'no'.

"Well, see there's the beauty of it," Bancroft explained, unusually patient. "Nobody else around here does, either. We don't do collector's editions very often. The last one was seven years ago, and the person who handled the account is long gone. No," he held up a hand to stop her when she started to interrupt again, "I've been watching you, Anna, and I think you have what it takes." He picked up a pen from the desk and tapped it idly on the desk, then used it as a pointer to emphasize his next words. "We're going after a small, targeted group, but marketing is marketing. We'll set up a special suite in the hotel where you will make presentations to groups of booksellers who cater to the collector trade."

Bancroft droned on, but she didn't hear much more. All she could think of was that she would have to not only be in contact with the most gorgeous man she had ever seen, but she'd have to work with him, and be responsible for marketing his book.

She was doomed.

Her turbulent thoughts suddenly congealed around a horrifying idea: could this be what Puck had been talking about last night? The love of her life? More likely this was something the little trickster had set up to make her look bad.

Suddenly she realized Bancroft was finishing up. Enough negative thinking! she told herself sternly. You can do this. Her inner executive was much more confident than she was herself.

Anna decided that, given how easily Bancroft deflected her earlier concerns, the prospect of successfully arguing that she shouldn't be assigned this project because her world was being manipulated by a fairy plotting to fill Anna's life with romance, was obviously hopeless. No, instead she would throw herself into the project and just ignore any fay influences.

By late afternoon she had set up a series of meetings with small groups of booksellers. She searched company files for all of the merchants who had sold copies of their previous collector's editions, sent out several promotional emails, and posted Internet ads. Unfortunately there wasn't enough time to do any video teasers. At one point her friend Amanda poked her head in to say hello, but quickly retreated when she saw Anna at the center of her own little maelstrom of work.

** * * * *

The whirlwind of activity continued, and now she found herself, one month later, setting up tables to display the books, refreshments, and other publicity literature in the Presidential Suite at Chicago's Dearborn Arms Hotel.

She and Gerhard had rendezvoused at the airport early that morning to make their 10am flight. He was just as devastatingly good-looking as she had remembered. After they had arrived at the hotel in Chicago, he had rolled up his shirtsleeves and worked alongside her, helping to set up displays, stack books, and do all of the final preparations for the start of the BookExpo. However, now that she had met him in person, it had embarrassed her to find she was at least two inches taller than he was. The height difference made her feel even more awkward as they worked.

The taste of Puck's flowers was the most dreadful thing Anna had ever experienced. As instructed, she had eaten one when she'd gotten ready that morning. The bitter taste at its first touch upon her tongue almost made her spit it out. Despite her taste buds cringing and her tongue curling away in protest, she'd grimly closed her eyes in determination and resolutely forced her lips together. Saliva welled up making it easier to swallow, yet still she almost gagged before getting it down successfully. After she'd swallowed and it seemed to take, Anna took a deep breath followed by a long drink of water. Vile!