This is not my typical story. But then, this story did not come about in a typical way. I normally see a story in my mind, flesh it out as it plays through my mind several times, and then write it out.
This story would not do that. It remained jumbled and kept going down what were apparently dead ends. Then I realized that what I was seeing in my mind was two stories overlaid on top of each other. They were almost the same, but they were different. One was an erotic romance story about a young woman and her imaginary friend. The other was non-erotic, but perhaps a romance story about a young woman and her imaginary friend. They begin exactly the same, but take very different paths as they develop.
This story is the non-erotic romance. I called the young woman Mindy in this version. The erotic version is Cindy's Imaginary Friend. It is the story of an imaginary friend who is much, much more that he seems. I am posting both in Sci-Fi / Fantasy so that they remain together.
Because these stories are twins of the same muse, I am posting them at the same time, but separately. I would recommend that you read them both.
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WARNING! All of my writing is intended for adults over the age of 18 ONLY. Stories may contain strong or even extreme sexual content. All people and events depicted are fictional and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Actions, situations, and responses are fictional ONLY and should not be attempted in real life.
If you are under the age or 18 or do not understand the difference between fantasy and reality or if you reside in any state, province, nation, or tribal territory that prohibits the reading of acts depicted in these stories, please stop reading immediately and move to somewhere that exists in the twenty-first century.
Archiving and reposting of this story is permitted, but only if acknowledgment of copyright and statement of limitation of use is included with the article. This story is copyright (c) 2014 by The Technician.
Individual readers may archive and/or print single copies of this story for personal, non-commercial use. Production of multiple copies of this story on paper, disk, or other fixed format is expressly forbidden.
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Mindy Beckman lay quietly in bed waiting. She knew that he would soon be here. As she looked out into the total blackness of her bedroom, her mind went back to the very first time that she had seen him appear in her room.
She was only seven. She didn't know how old he was then, or if, in fact, age had any meaning for him. In those days, he was just a small boy who appeared to be her same age. He would bring her toys for them to play with, or he would take her to marvelous places that she had never seen before except in videos or read about in books
He told her that his name was Teman. He had dark hair and very dark eyes and looked almost Oriental, but his eyes were not what Cindy typically thought of for a person from China or Japan or even Korea. Perhaps he was from one of the Pacific islands. It really didn't matter. Where he was from didn't explain how he was able to come into her bedroom each night.
Sometime in the second week after Teman first appeared, she told her parents about him. They immediately called the police. After a thorough investigation by detectives and a conversation with two social workers and a psychologist, it was decided that he existed only in Mindy's mind.
"You have nothing to be ashamed of," the psychologist told her sweetly. "Many children have imaginary friends who fill a need in their lives." The woman then softly covered Mindy's hands with her own and said, "Your parents and I have decided that you will see me once a week for a while so we can investigate more constructive ways to fulfill the needs in your life."
Mindy went to therapy for five years. It was mostly playing with special toys and talking about anything in her life that bothered her. Mindy learned a lot from those sessions. Primarily, she learned how to lie convincingly to the psychologist and her parents about the mysterious boy who visited her room each night.
Teman continued to come to see her almost every night. Sometimes he would leave one of the small toys behind as a gift to her. Sometimes she would give him one of her drawings and he would take it with him. She was sure that he was real. She was sure that he was really in her room. But whenever the doctor or her parents asked about him, she would say, "He doesn't visit me anymore."
The last time Mindy ever mentioned Teman to anyone was when her mother noticed a small, home-made doll on her shelf. She asked where it had come from. "Teman gave it to me," Mindy answered.
"Don't lie to me," her mother said firmly. "We have been putting up with your wild stories for two years now. But now it looks like you are stealing from your friends and lying to cover what you have done."
Mindy tried to tell her mother that Teman had left the doll the last time he visited, but that only angered her mother more and more. They yelled at each other for several minutes until finally her mother snapped, slapped her hard and screamed, "I never want to hear about this imaginary friend of yours ever again, no matter what he does or what he gives you."
Neither her mother nor the psychologist nor anyone else ever again heard her speak of Teman After an additional year, the psychologist declared that she had finally outgrown this childish fantasy. Therapy continued for another two years before it was declared no longer necessary. Teman was forgotten by everyone... except Mindy. It is difficult to forget someone who continues to visit you almost every night.
The years continued to pass and Mindy began to grow into a beautiful young woman. Teman also grew. As they both got older, Mindy began to notice that she shared many facial features with Teman. She, too, had dark hair and dark eyes. In fact, she seemed to look more like him than she did her own father and mother or any of her cousins.
Mindy began wondering about the fact that her skin was darker than most of her friends, and strangely darker than her mother or father. In her senior year of high school, Mindy was required to write a paper on her personal heritage, including her family tree, as best as she could reconstruct it. It was while researching ancestors that she accumulated family photos and realized that she did not, in fact, look like anyone in her family.
"Mom," she asked a few days later as they were sitting around the supper table having desert, "when did you adopt me? ... And who am I?"
