As told by Mathew Serig:
It’s white. cloudy all around, some blue sky shows thru now and again, the clouds are slowly moving. The floor is white marble.
I’m sitting down. “Mathew, oooooh, so good to see you,” as she grabs my head and buries it between her bosoms. She has long, curly, light brown hair. She’s dressed like a sexy secretary or librarian from my world – glasses; bright red lips; blue eyes; she’s Caucasian, but lightly tanned; she’s about 5’8″; looks like some bombshell out of 1955; grayish-brown, short skirt; white dress shirt, top buttons open so I can see her cleavage; shirt sleeves rolled up; she looks about like she’s thirty-five; smells like soft flowers, relaxing and intoxicating. “Oh, that fabulously devious mind of yours. I love it,” and she kisses me a few times on top of my head, then begins rubbing the side of her face on top of my head, “Where do you come from with all those things. All those wonderful things you’ve seen. All those ideas no one else has. Ohhhhhh, we could do so much together,” she pulls back a bit, still with her hands around my head, looking at me, “And you are cute, for a human.” She straddles me, her arms around the back of my neck, her forehead against mine, “Do you know where you are, Mathew?” It crawls out of me, “No, madam.” She laughs a little, “You don’t have to ‘madam’ me, honey.” She gently kisses my forehead and is massaging the back of my head with both hands, “You know who I am?” I shake my head, “No.” She looks me in the eyes, “Do you wanna know?” Flatly, “Are you going to kill me? If so, do it quick.” She smiles and laughs. “No, little baby. I’m not going to kill you. I’m not going to hurt you in anyway. You and me can have a lot of fun, if you want to.”
Flatly, “Am I in the Demi Plane?”
“Yyyyees”
“Are you a mage?”
“Nooooo.”
“Are you a being of the Demi Plane?”
“Well,” and she gestures around the space, “I keep a home here.”
“You’re a god?”
“What if I am?” She grinds into me, “Would you like to fuck a god, Mathew?”
“I suppose it depends on the god.” She laughs. “Oh, Mathew. You so stodgy. You know other men would have ripped my clothes off by now, but you, no, you have to be stoic.” She changes form and becomes Melinda. “Oooohh. You like her.”
Flatly, “Please stop.”
“What about,” and she becomes Anne.
I jolt up, “Jesus, no!” and I push her off. “Hmph. Some of you humans mate with your cousins.”
“I’m not one of them.”
“Fair enough,” she stands up, “What about . . . ” and she becomes Detective Inspector Greencrest. She spins around slowly and seductively. “Oh, you really like her. You like the older girls.”
“Please stop.” She pushes me back down onto the chair and straddles me again, back as the naughty secretary. Kisses my forehead and rubs the side of her head against my forehead, “Ohhh, I love this mind of yours so much.” She just holds her head to mine, and her arms again around the back of my neck. “You can’t fool me, Mathew. I’ve seen some of what’s in your mind. You’re like other men – you want a women to hold and to love, and one that loves you. You’re actually quite the romantic . . . there’s soooo much going on inside that mind of yours. It’s a shame to let it go to waste being a stuffy businessman when you could be so much more.” I’m tempted to ask her if Teo sent her. “Wait here a minute.” Like I’m going anywhere. She gets up off me and walks a few feet in front of me. All of a sudden a whiteboard, like the kind from classrooms back home on Earth, is a few feet off the ground in front of me. Her hair is tied back, the shirt buttoned up, sleeves down and buttoned, the skirt is past her knees, her back is to me. I guess I was starring. She turns and smiles “You like it when you have to guess what’s there.” I don’t say anything. “Let me introduce myself, I’m Phileppa, god of peace. And right now, my numbers are down.” On the board a line graph appears with the line stepping down and to the right. “And do you know why my numbers are down?” I shake my head a little. “Because everything is going pretty well back on Aeris. And when things are going pretty well, peace, me, is taken for granted, and that’s no good for me. It means I don’t have the same power and influence I have when things are going poorly, wars and such, and everyone is praying to me. Now, you, being a businessman, can understand my problem. And I want you to help me with that.”
“You want me to start wars so people will pray to you?”
She chuckles, “No, dear.” She steps towards me and changes form into my sixty-three year old secretary. “Oh, you’d love to plow her, wouldn’t you?” She bends over a bit and looks back at me, “You’d love to bend this old girl over your desk and ream her out good.” She turns back around and faces me, “But you don’t because that would be an abuse of your position, and you have your rules.” She changes form again, back to the younger, sexy secretary and straddles my lap.
Me, “So what do you want?” She runs her hands thru my hair. “Do you know why no one, almost no one, prays for peace – because it’s boring. Oh sure, some people want peace, peace of mind. There’s the ascetics, and the bleeding hearts – but nobody wants to live like some monk up on a mountain with bland food and no booze, no sex, no nice clothes, no fun. And the bleeding hearts annoy people. So, I want you, and that big brain of yours, filled with all those alien ideas from that other place, to come up with a new . . . marketing approach. Something like, ‘Shag for Peace.’ I think if more people shagged the world would be a much more peaceful place. What do you think?”
“I think I’m mad.” She laughs and pulls my face into her bosoms again, “Oh, you. You’re not mad. And even if you were,” pushing my face back a bit so I could look into her eyes, “I would still want you and that brain of yours,” and she plants more kisses on the top of my head.
“And if I decline your offer?”
“Well, honey, I haven’t even told you the best parts yet.” She looks me in the eyes, her hands massaging the back of my head and neck, “I’ll make you one of my prophets. You’ll have powers no Gifted ever could. You’ll live a very long life. And if you’ve been a good boy I can make you one of my agents, and you’ll become immortal.” Drawing closer, forehead to forehead, “And you and I can be paramours for centuries. You’ll never have to worry about getting me pregnant. You’ll never have to worry about getting a disease. You’ll get to fuck a beautiful god, or whatever form you want to fuck, for the rest of eternity. Doesn’t that sound like a good deal, Mr. Big Businessman?”
“Why not just ask me outright without all the seducing?” Getting off my lap, “I could do that, but,” and she turns into a motherly figure, conservatively coiffed, and dressed in velvety, seafoam-colored robes, “if I approached you, or most other mortals like this they act very proper and controlled, and not as they truly are. Whereas if I act like this,” she appears as Greencrest dressed as the sexy librarian, “the truth about them comes out.” Back on my lap, “And I am a bit lonely here. I’ve been lonely for a long time. I like company. I like to play. And you mortals, at least some of you, can be fun to play with. So what do you say, my little one?” running one of her hands thru my hair, the other on my side. “You get my numbers up and I get your,” and she reaches between my legs. I look her in the eyes and flatly say, “I’m not a toy.” She pulls back her hand and puts it on my face, “Oh no, baby. I know that. I just want to have some fun again. To feel some pleasure again. And I want to be near that mind.” She pulls me close, my head into her cheek, takes a deep smell of my hair, “Think about it.” I suddenly find myself sitting on the pavement, outside my home in the Capital. I’m a bit embarrassed as I go to stand up as my time with the lady has left me somewhat . . . excited. Just then one of my neighbors, Mrs. Finch, passes by. “Hello, Mrs. Finch.”
Nervously, “Mr. Serig” and she hastens on by.
