The Author (2/2)

A metamodern story where the characters are aware that they are the characters of the story. A girl searches for The Author of her story and meets him. Part 2/2

The street changed subtly. It was about the same, with perhaps a few more colorful buildings. The air smelled different, more like exhaust fumes. And it sounded ... May didn’t immediately notice the difference ... One note was missing from the morning symphony here.

No sex moans.

It was really creepy, like entering the zombie city. What kind of people live here...

And a few early passers-by on the streets looked ... Well, quite human, but so ... overdressed! No one was topless or barefoot, no one was flashing their hips or butts as they walked. They stared at May with the same shocked expression. Why was that? Well, her carnival outfit was just a bunch of short coloured stripes around her chest and hips, but it was actually quite okay as everyday clothing...

And, she noticed, most of the windows were curtained. So, how do people expose their nudity and sex to casual observers?

Unnatural!

And does their Author live in this creepy, cold place? Poor, poor guy...

May followed the signs and house numbers, it was easy. Eventually she found herself at the door of an old three-story building. Here. She checked the address on her forearm and walked up the stairs, her heart pounding. Is she really here? What is she doing here?

She paused in front of the nondescript door, then finally pressed the bell, almost fainting with fear.

A muffled ding, then footsteps. Then the door opened.

May saw a middle-aged man - maybe in his fifties - standing on the threshold, fat, red-nosed, with glasses and faded, pale hair. She recognized his face at once: she had seen it many times, painted on walls, printed on posters, drawn on asphalt ... She had never stopped to think who that face belonged to, and why it appeared all over the city.

“He” was indeed a “He”.

The Author.

Behind his bent, sleepy face, the hall was filled with bright yellow light. His body looked strange - strange to her: wrinkled, sloppy, with a hanging belly ... She had never seen anyone, even old people, in such bad shape!

He looked at her admiringly. His face flushed a little and his breathing became shallow, the familiar signs she had seen a thousand times. She smiled at him.

“Well ... Welcome, May!” he said, stepping aside and inviting her to enter.

How did he know her name? Ah. Of course.

She stepped in, looked around curiously, sniffed. What did she expect? A golden temple with huge statues of girls her age in lewd poses, adorned with shiny orbs and all the finer details between their legs? Something like that...

What she saw instead was his small living room, furnished as any normal person would have it - with a TV, a round table, armchairs and an old sofa, with a kitchen attached - but very cluttered. There were a few pizza boxes, burger wrappers and Chinese takeaway boxes piled up in the corner. But nothing lewd or gold. Not even a lot of naked skin in the pictures hanging on the walls.

Nothing out of the ordinary, generally speaking.

“I need a shower, okay?” she asked.

“Of course,” he pointed to the bathroom.

Stripping off her street clothes, May returned to the cozy home nakedness and stepped into the shower. It was only when she was under the hot water jets that she noticed another detail. The Author was dressed as if he were going out ... Why is he dressed in his own room? What strange habits! Should she put her carnival outfit back on after the shower? No, she decided. After all, if he’s her Author, he knows all her preferences. He designed it himself, didn’t he?

She dried herself with a soft yellow towel and, confident in her sexuality, stepped back into the living room, smiling charmingly at the Author.

He smiled back uneasily. Hmm. Is he as worried as she is? Why? He’s the Author!

“Um ... I’m John,” he said. “Nice to meet you. Coffee?”

She nodded and smiled, “Yes, please!”

She felt her skin flush and almost burn under his hungry eyes. Oh. Of course, hundreds of men had stared at her before, not to mention all the other things they had done to her, but ... probably no one had exuded such sex deprivation. Never. Who could be so desperate for sex when there were hundreds of girls around?

John made coffee and brought croissants. May sat in the chair, throwing one leg over the other and stretching happily. John gulped. Then she tasted the food. Delicious!

“So...” John broke the awkward silence. “You wanted to talk to me. Well, here I am, open to you. What would you like to ask?”

She chuckled. “Didn’t you write me and all my thoughts? You should know!”

He shook his head. “No, it does not work that way. I’ve written your actions, and some feelings, and your desire to meet me. Nothing more. Your thoughts are a complete mystery to me. And of course, once you’ve entered my world, I’ve lost all control over you. You are now on the free will.”

Oh, so she’s free now? May listened to herself. No difference! She giggled.

“Maybe ... I wanted to thank you. I’m having the time of my life for all my eighteen plus years! Nothing could be better!”

“Even, um, when they fuck you hard and rough?”

“Especially then!”

She laughed.

He relaxed visibly.

“You’re welcome. I have done my best to make life full and fun and pleasant for you - not just for you, but for all my characters. But sometimes I write about fear, pain, coercion and humiliation, and each time I worry if I’m hurting you too much...”

“Don’t worry. Even pain and fear feel sweet ... at least to me!”

“I wonder,” she continued, “how much have you written? Our history spans centuries, but how much of it really happened, and how much ... you know, was just written as historical background? Like the dinosaur fossils deliberately buried in the ground?”

John waved his hand in the air. “Not much. About ten dozen short stories, written in the course of only three years. I’m really just an amateur writer, unlike the real ones...”

May looked at him incredulously. Her whole world had been created in just three years? And by an amateur? Does that mean there are better Authors out there?

“So your stories ... doesn’t that explain why they keep repeating themselves, using the same events as a framework for new adventures, the same plot variations...”

“It does.” He smiled. “What do you expect? I have not described what is more important, I have only told of your everyday pleasures. As you know, life goes on behind the scenes of the theatre. And as we often say, reality is boring.”

“Reality is boring...” she grinned. “Hmm. Yes, I guess life always seems beautiful if you only see the best of it ... Although my reality is not boring at all! And this...” she pointed to the hall, the room, the door, hinting at the rest of his world beyond the walls, “is this your boring reality...”

“It’s an unenviable place indeed,” John shrugged. “My career is slowing down at the finish line, my former neighbours have left, and I find myself living here, in the dull neighborhood where nothing happens...”

May covered her mouth with her hand.

“Of course, only when you, my erotic dream, appear and lift a veil from my eyes with your presence...”

A veil? It was the night behind the veil, the other side of the mirror, where everything is dark and frightening, while May and her friends played their endless, sweet games...

John poured himself another cup of coffee, his hand trembling slightly with embarrassment. May, biting her lip, looked at him, feeling half pity, half excitement. She knew this plot by heart!

“So...” she paused. “How long has it been since you last fucked?” She winked mischievously. “Wanna reset the counter?”

He looked back in silence. She needed no words to hear his reply.

She stood and began to unbutton his home shirt.

“But ... I’m old, fat and ugly...”

“Nonsense!” she stopped to kiss him. “As if I’ve never fucked older men! You have your special charms, you know!”

And she continued to undress him.

“My penis ... my erections don’t last...”

“Not if I can help it!” she giggled. “I know how to do it, you’ve written me like this, remember!”

They fell onto his bed - it creaked underneath them - and kissed hungrily, running their hands over each other’s bodies. John ran his tongue down her neck to her lovely little breasts with small, rosy nipples and cupped her tender tits, smearing them in a wet and messy kiss.

“Is that all you’ve got? Make me want more! Ohhh!”

She growled as she felt him nibbling her nipples, his surprisingly strong hands squeezing her hips and spreading her buttocks...

He rolled onto his back and watched as May climbed on top of him, admiring his wonderful creation. And she saw the lust in his eyes. However older his body might be getting, his passion was still young. The passion that had created her world.

She playfully lowered her crotch to his, brushing the velvety skin between her thighs over his cock.

“Mmmm ... Would you erect me?”

“Why do you ask?”

She moaned softly, rubbing her tender labia over his soft flesh, feeling it grow thicker and harder with each movement, feeling the first echoes of pleasure...

“Because ... in general!”

And she impaled herself on his hard-on.

Soon they were both breathless, with sweaty foreheads, so preoccupied that neither could continue their idle chatter.

The first round was a straightforward fuck, with John helping her move her hips up and down and May moaning deeper and deeper, trying not to pay attention to the inevitable fact that he was approaching orgasm.

But ... as she had promised ... It took him long enough to bring her to a powerful, shuddering orgasm. And then he came so hard that he had to collect his cum for years! And yes, after that she had to tease him to get his erection back. For a few minutes. With a helpful lick she made him good enough to do the job. She whimpered happily as he pushed her onto her back and squeezed her into the mattress with all his weight, pounding her hard.

He lasted longer this time, but she still rubbed her clit to make her orgasms brighter.

“Aaahh! Mmm ... John, John!”

He rolled onto his back, breathing heavily. She immediately pounced on his softening dick, feeling his cum oozing out of her pussy, and began to lick him clean, making him hard again.

“Ohhh May...” he groaned. “What are you doing to me ... The third time in a row ... It’s impossible...”

“In your boring world maybe!” she laughed. “Not in mine!”

And she rammed his dick down her throat hungrily. He hardly felt like ejaculating again after the previous two sessions. But ... the desire to follow the pleasures of his submissive youth was stronger than the weakness of his old age. She won and tasted his cum, swirling it around her tongue like a fine wine.

And she made him hard again. And again.

They ended up fucking side by side as he became visibly tired and May really needed another hot shot of his cum inside her. And this time they went at it in a frenzy, completely exhausted.

Then they cuddled up in bed. It was so sweet, May thought, unlike any post-coital cuddling she had ever experienced ... She felt both satisfied and energized, wanting more and more. She pressed her ear to his chest, listening to his sprinting heartbeat as it calmed down.

“Hey! No heart attack, please!” she said sternly.

“Don’t ... worry...” he coughed, holding her tighter. “Not this time. Ooohhh ... May ... You’re amazing, I wrote you, but I never imagined it would be so amazing in reality...”

He stroked her shoulder-length hair, her bare neck, her tanned skin...

“You’re happy to fuck like this, so bright, with me...”

“Yes.”

“How old were you in the first sex scene I wrote about you? I didn’t say your age. You’re adult now, well, technically, but ... you’ve had so many men ... The storyline doesn’t seem plausible...”

“Well,” she shrugged. “We found out that you have a penchant for younger girls. So I must be quite young. But that’s okay, I was perfectly prepared for all that! Besides, you made me that way, didn’t you?”

They smiled at each other. Then they kissed tenderly.

May looked into her eyes.

“John ... I really never thought I would ever feel like this ... but ... can I have your baby?”

He looked at her in astonishment.

“Are you sure? You’re still so young...”

“Absolutely. What’s with the age? It’s just one word or another. I’ll take care of everything if you write me that way.”

“True,” he replied. “But bear in mind that if I have to change anything when I write, you may have to give birth sooner than you expect. And go through it.”

“No problem! I’m already pregnant somewhere in your story, aren’t I? Life can get complicated, and next thing I’ll see myself with a five-year-old instead of a newborn!”

“Anything can happen,” he laughed. “But you’re still willing to take that risk?”

She thought about it.

“Hey, someone suggested yesterday that The Author could be a she, and so he may have just as much fun with young pregnant bellies as with young bare bottoms ... And becoming the mother of The Author’s child? It’s the chance of a lifetime!”

He held her in his arms.

“Then you have my child. It will be written. Right after you leave.”

“May I stay longer? Or ... may I visit you again?”

He shook his head.

“The narrative would not allow it, or it would become too repetitive and boring. You have many wonderful porn escapades ahead of you, but not this one, I’m afraid.”

“Pity...”

They kissed some more. Then she made him hard again, and they made the most of it.

***

“Life is strange,” she thought as she walked back down his street to the threshold of her world. “But good.”

The day sun was hotter, there were more people on the streets, and some girls were even bold enough to show a bit of their bellies. May chuckled, fighting the urge to take off her stripes and finish the walk naked. They would have a sight to remember!

Then, with one last step, she was back in the West Quarters, with it’s familiar sounds and smells, and more or less exposed people around her. May laughed, took off her clothes and walked home naked. She was not the only one to do so. Everyone was enjoying the warmth and the sights.

The apartment was empty. Tina was not back yet. May lay down on the bed, stretched out her limbs, hugged the pillow and lost herself in her thoughts.

“What a dream! What an adventure! What a story to tell!”

She picked up one of the dildos lying on the nightstand and began to slowly masturbate, recalling the last sexual experience: she had missed the details under the wave of emotions. The memory was fresh and so unreal, it seemed ... She couldn’t put her finger on it, but something had happened, something had changed in her...

As her vision began to blur in the first wave of orgasm, the neon letters on the ceiling flashed:

“Thank you, May. I love you. You won’t see any more words from me, but I’m with you. Always.”

“Of course!” She laughed and waved at the ceiling. “I love you, John! Write me good and funny!”

And the orgasm hit her.

The Author’s address remained forever tattooed on May’s forearm. And in time (actually, with quite a bit of flash-forward), she became the mother of an energetic, cheerful daughter, Stevie, who grew up fast and showed some unusual story-changing abilities.

Just like her mother, Stevie began her sex life early, and it was glorious.

But these stories are already written in the sacred texts, you know.