Midsummer-Night's Dreaming Ch. 03

Puck, the mischievous nature sprite of legend, must enlist the help of mortals to prevent a crisis which could erupt between the human world and the world of Fairie - a place full of dangers for mortals. Dash, a failed writer, has to protect mankind from a potentially deadly conflict. Fortunately, Puck finds someone to help Dash with the quest.

This is the third of a series of stories about Puck's adventures in the modern world. Although they are told in a chronological sequence of sort, the stories are independent. Don't worry if you haven't read the others. You can enjoy this one, then read the rest.

I would like to thank Gustav Rennick for his help with editing.

With an almost silent rustle of keys, Dash Ressel finished another sentence. "Oh, for the days of John D. McDonald's Red-Hot Typewriter," he thought. Back then authors had the tactile feed back, the satisfaction of slamming away at the keys of a mechanical typewriter and hearing the clickety-clack of the type bar leaving a real imprint of the ink ribbon on a real sheet of paper. Dash had just the rattle of the keys on his old laptop. The machine served to render his ideas into words on a screen, but they were stored in an invisible, insubstantial electronic file somewhere in the depths of the machine and in the cloud somewhere - but did creating a series of little electromagnetic patterns really constitute "writing?"

Dash shook his head slowly, and judged from his eyes' swaying focus that he was not yet done writing for the evening. He went to the kitchen, poured another three fingers of bourbon into his glass, and sat back down with his computer. "Lets see," he mumbled to himself, "boy meets girl - boy loses girl - boy turns into homicidal maniac..." He nodded to himself. "Yep, a basic, young-adult plot line."

There was a knock at the door. Dash ignored the sound. Since he lived so far off the beaten track in the wilds of Kentucky, he knew it was no visitor. It was either a walnut falling off the huge tree which overhung the front of the cabin, or it was that mange-ridden raccoon begging for scraps again. Well, the 'coon was out of luck because he had finished the entire can of chili he had heated for his supper.

There was another knock at the door. It sounded a little too purposeful to be a walnut, and the animal never used his fist. Dash pushed back his chair, took a swallow of bourbon, and headed for the door. He swung the door wide and looked out. Just as he had thought. No one there.

"Good evening, sir. May I introduce myself?"

Startled, Dash looked down. A little man, maybe eight inches high, stood on the stoop. Dash looked down at the remaining bourbon in the glass. Maybe he was a little farther along than he had thought.

Evidently standing there in the doorway with his jaw hanging down was enough of an invitation for the little man because he skipped past Dash into the cabin. Inside the door he stopped and looked around. "Be it ever so humble, there is no place like home," he said. "At least that's what I have heard said." The little man looked around. "And this certainly is humble."

Still in the doorway with his hand on the doorknob, Dash felt a flush of heat. "Who the hell are you, and what do you think you are doing in my cabin?"

The little man turned around, swept off his small green cap, and bowed low. "I, good sir, am Puck - the fairy. You may have heard of me."

"Not since Mrs. Potter's freshman English class," Dash replied. He looked up into the rafters of the cabin and exhaled an alcohol-laden gust of breath. "I must be drunker than I thought," he thought to himself. Dash stepped back inside, closed the door, and went back to his desk. He flopped into his chair, looked into his glass, swirled the contents, and took another swallow. He looked back into the room. The little man still stood there - hat in hand and tapping his foot impatiently. "Shit," Dash thought. "This will not end well."

"So what do you want?" Dash finally asked. "What kind of nasty tricks are you here to play?"

Now that Dash had finally recognized him, Puck hopped up on the desk in front of him. "You, sir, appear to be a drunken sot, and I need someone of clear mind. If we are to save mankind from the foul fiends of the depths of Fairie, I need someone sharp of sense and keen of wit."

Dash lifted his glass in mock salute and downed the last of the bourbon. "Well, my senses are plenty witty when I've had a little pop - or two. After all, I am keenly enjoying imagining I am talking to a fairy." He couldn't help himself. He had to giggle.

The little man frowned. "I can certainly see I will get nowhere with you this evening. You force me to take measures."

"Yeah, right," said Dash and he stood up and walked to the kitchen where the bourbon bottle still sat. He poured himself another healthy belt. "If I'm this screwed up already, I might as well go for the big 'all-fall-down' this evening." Truthfully, he was a little unnerved by the fact that his imagination had gotten so vivid tonight. What if this really was the tricksey Robin Goodfellow of legend? He shook his shoulders. "Be real," he told himself. "Go back and sit down. Drink 'till you pass out, and in the morning this will all be a memory." Hmm, a happy thought - maybe it wouldn't be even a memory if he got enough liquor down.

Because his glass was full, Dash sat down a little more carefully. The little man still stood on the desk. "Yep," Dash thought. "Need more bourbon." Out loud, he said, "Ever since Marcy left me, I haven't been getting much." He took a leisurely sip. "So, Mister Puck, if you'd just magic me up a woman, you know, one of those nymphs you fairies cavort around with, this could be just a perfect evening. Do that, and I'll be glad to help." He tipped the glass towards the little man in a small salute, then he took another good sized sip. For a moment he held the amber liquid in his mouth savoring the flavor and feeling it numb his tongue and gums before he swallowed. Dash smacked his lips and sighed.

Puck gasped. "Oh, don't even wish for such a thing as it may be granted." He shuddered and turned away.

"What? What do you mean?" Dash asked. "What's wrong with wanting a little sport tonight?"

The little man turned back to face him, his face intense. "Oh, you would enjoy it, right enough. Hyleoroi, the watcher of this valley, would inflame your senses, and you would rut after her like a buck deer after a doe in heat. But that is doom for any mortal, for no man can satisfy one of the nymphs for long." As he spoke, Puck walked closer until he stood at the edge of the desk practically eye to eye with Dash.

Dash, for his part, leaned back and took another sip. "Well maybe they just need someone with a man-sized prick." He winked at Puck.

The fairy looked at him, disgusted. "Oh yes, foolish mortal. You could satisfy her once. Twice. More. And, it would be the most exquisite of pleasure." He sat down on the edge of the desk and crossed his legs. "But then you would be hers. Once every day, she would need it again. And again. And again. For one day at a time, she would be yours, but on the morrow, she would be free of your spell." He nodded grimly. "But you would never - ever - be free of hers. Just the thought of her with another would fill you with rage and desolation at the same time. You would have to have her again or feel the torment of the loss of the supreme pleasure to be found between her thighs."

A little shaken by Puck's intensity, Dash took another sip. "Well," he grumbled, "then what good is talkin' to a fairy going to do me?"

"Very well," Puck said with a sigh. He stood up "Enough of this. I will return later after you have sobered up and had some relief." The little man took a small envelope out of a pocket and opened it. Dash watched in puzzlement as he shook some powder into his hand. He leaned close, and, with a little smile, he blew a puff of powder into Dash's face.

"Hey, what the..." Dash started to protest, but as the powder hit his face, he felt a fiery pain in his nose, and he convulsed with a powerful sneeze. And again. He sat there dazed for a moment then exploded with a third sneeze.

Between the liquor and the sneezes, it took Dash a while before he could get his eyes to focus. The little fairy was gone. Had he ever really been there? Puck? Oh, for crying out loud. My, this was one glorious piss-up - and he was only on his third glass. Reminded of his glass, Dash looked around for it and didn't see it. Oh. There it was on the floor with a small puddle of bourbon soaking into the threadbare carpet.

He sighed and leaned over to pick it up. Well, since he had not finished the whole glass, it would not be too soon to get another glassful. He wandered over to the table and picked up the bottle. He put a splash in the bottom of the glass, but he had a thought. Maybe he should be a little careful. The more he considered what had just transpired - had the fairy been in his cabin or just in his head? - the more it seemed as if he might have had enough liquor for the evening. He looked at the glass. Well, he should finish the little swig he had already dumped in the glass. After all, that would just replace what he had lost out of his last glass. It wouldn't kill him.

As he brought the glass to his lips, he smelled a foul oder. He stopped and looked at his hands. Had he had his hands in some dog shit? Setting the glass down he inspected his fingers. Nope. Clean as a whistle, but he went to the sink and washed them anyway. "Huh. Seeing things, and now smelling things," he said to himself.

Once more he lifted the glass only to smell the same awful smell. "Phew," he said out loud. Curious he sniffed a little to locate the source. It smelled the worst right above the glass. The bourbon? No that was impossible. He dipped his finger into the liquid and brought it to his nose. The sharp reek made his eyes water. There was no way he could possibly drink this. The little fairy must have polluted the whole bottle. Well, crap. There was at least a quarter of it left.

Dash set his glass down, picked up the bourbon bottle, and took a whiff over the open neck. The smell of sixty-shades-of-shit made his nostrils curl. Gagging he set the bottle back down and thought for a moment. He held his breath and picked it up. Carefully breathing through his mouth, he took the bottle to the sink, poured the remainder down the drain, and rinsed the bottle three times. For good measure he scrubbed around the sink and washed the detritus down the drain. Cautiously he took a breath through his nose. Safe.

Well, he still had an unopened bottle left, and now he was determined that the wicked little weasel of a fairy was not going to deprive him of a well-deserved nightcap. Although the bottle had been securely sealed all the while Puck was in the house, when he opened it, it reeked just as badly. So did the one bottle of beer he had left in the refrigerator. So did his cough syrup. In fact everything in the house which contained alcohol smelled like the concentrated scum at the bottom of a dumpster.

* * * * * *

Dash kicked the door open, picked up the grocery bags, and lugged them inside. Another week's supply, but this time it was lighter, not to mention cheaper, than usual because of that damned Puck. After he put everything away, he opened his remaining bottle of bourbon again and took a tentative sniff. Phew! "Damn you, Puck!" Saying it aloud made him feel better. He hadn't been able to drink a drop since the little jackass put the spell on him. At first he had thought it was just the whiskey in the house, but any alcohol in any product anywhere smelled just as bad - indoors or out. At the bar this weekend, no other nostrils but his noticed any problems.

After he finished putting away the first sack, he cried, "God damn you, Puck!" Adding to and embroidering the cursing changed nothing. Even the basic, repetitive nature of the thought was starting to lose its impact. He sighed. At least he felt better now. He was embarrassed by how badly he had felt the first two days he couldn't drink. Self deception is so easy, but now he realized he had been drinking way too much. Marcy or no, he had to get on with his life.

Just as he was about to finish, there was a knock at the door. "Crap," he said to himself. It was the first expletive to come to mind. Most of the others seemed to have lost their power in the last few days. The knock came again. "Yeah, just a second," he called. He stuck the milk in the refrigerator. If it was that damned fairy again, he would punt him right off the porch. Grabbing the knob, he jerked the door open, forcefully said, "Yeah?" and gaped in surprise at his neighbor. "Mrs. Westfall?" he said a little uncertainly. Then he remembered the gruff way he had answered the door. "Oh, I'm sorry," he said making sure he sounded sufficiently apologetic. "I thought it was someone else."

At least he was pretty sure it was Mrs. Westfall. She and her husband lived only about a half mile down the road, but Dash had only met her once six months ago when he had first moved in. The cabin had been in his family for years, but he had only visited occasionally before. Although he had not seen her since, he had not forgotten the older woman's striking good looks.

Now, however, her curly blond hair was disheveled below the Kentucky Wildcats ball cap on her head. She had on an old flannel shirt and jeans which did a good job of concealing the curves of her trim figure, but he scarcely noticed. He was caught by her eyes. Her wide-eyed stare accentuated the beginning crinkles which would become crow's feet, but her dilated irises made her eyes look almost black.

"I need a man," she moaned and leaned in and captured his mouth with hers.

In helpless surprise, he let her kiss him for a long minute before he pulled away. She moaned again in frustration and tried to return to the kiss. He held her arms until she looked at him. "Mrs. Westfall, are you okay?" Of course she was not okay, or she would never have attacked him like this, but it was all he could think of to say.

"Don't send me away." She looked at him beseechingly. "Please. I've never felt this way before, and I need... " At first she looked embarrassed, but then the wanton yearning returned to her eyes. "I need to be fucked!" She pulled him into another kiss, her tongue exploring. The bill of her baseball cap bumped against his forehead, and as she pressed against him, the cap fell to the floor.

Dash felt a pull of attraction. Damn it, it had been too long since he had had a woman, and now here was his attractive neighbor offering herself too him. A sudden suspicion blossomed. He pushed her away again, and she groaned at the break in contact. "Mrs. Westfall." When she did not immediately respond, he shook her arms and repeated, "Mrs. Westfall!" Finally she looked at him and actually appeared to see him. "Listen," he said. "Did you see..." For a moment he found himself hesitant to speak his hunch aloud, but he had to ask. "Did you see a little man, a fairy?"

The words seemed to penetrate. "Yes," she started hesitantly, "there was someone... Or something? I thought I was just imagining it. You said it was a fairy?"

Puck. The little fairy had wanted Dash to sober up; had he also decided to take care of his celibate life? Dash was angry about the unwanted cure from drinking, but he was hard pressed to find a reason to be upset about the beautiful Mrs. Westfall.

The woman looked back at him with those dark eyes. "Please?" she asked one more time. Her eyes were pleading too. "And my name is Jennifer." This time she reached up with her right hand and undid a button of her flannel shirt. Dash watched as she undid another. After the third button, it was obvious she did not have on a bra.

Dash had been without a woman too long, and the first sight of the gentle curve of her right breast wiped all other thoughts from his mind. "Let's go to my bedroom." He gestured, and by the time they got there, she had her flannel shirt unbuttoned and untucked, and she flipped it onto the chair by the door. Her body was slim and tight, but she had bent over to remove her shoes, and for the moment he couldn't see all of her breasts - but the curve of her ass in her jeans promised more.

She looked back at him, and Dash realized he was still standing at the door watching her undress. "Hurry," she said. "I need you."

It had been a long time since Dash had been needed, and that pushed him over the line. He kicked off his loafers at the same time he went to work on his shirt buttons. Mrs. Westfall, - no, Jennifer he reminded himself - pushed down her jeans then pivoted and sat down on the bed to pull them off.

She stood back up and pirouetted so Dash could look at her whole body. "Like what you see?" She was lithe and trim. Her breasts were not large, but they were firm and nicely placed on her chest. Large, darkish pink areola crowned her bust, and her thumb-sized nipples were fully erect.

Feeling awkward, Dash rushed to remove his clothes as quickly as he could. Thankfully he managed to get his pants off without tumbling to the floor. As soon as he was fully naked, Jennifer turned away and crawled onto the bed. Wantonly she spread her legs showing him her sex which was dark red with arousal. "Take me," she said. "Take me now!"

Early on his prick had responded to the woman, and now that it was freed from his underwear, it swayed in front of him pointing the way to the bed. Jennifer fixed her eyes on it. "God, it's big. I want that in me so bad." She scooted back on the bed to give him room.

It may have been a long time, but Dash had no need to think. The gloriously nude body of his neighbor drew his iron-hard cock like a magnet. She whimpered a little in anticipation as he put his knee on the bed, but he was not listening. Her warm moist center drew him on, and the moment the head of his cock touched the opening of her vagina she thrust upwards with her hips.

Dash had always loved the first sliding, gliding sensation as his prick sank inside a woman for the first time, and he reveled in the sensation now. God, he had missed this. She was wet and ready for him, and he sank in effortlessly. He pushed in until their bellies met, and he held himself there for a moment.

She thrust against him, impatient. "Oh god, I'm almost there!" she cried. "Come on! Fuck me hard."

He could feel her inner walls clamping in slippery spasms on his cock. It was as if her whole cunt were trying to milk an orgasm from him. There was no contest. He felt the first wave of his climax surge down the length of his cock.

He gasped for breath, but she was gasping, trusting, and panting right along with him. "Oh, yes!" she said. "Cum with me. Cum with... " Her voice trailed off into little inarticulate cries.

Pulse after pulse, Dash felt the exquisite agony of release. He cried out right along with her until they both collapsed together. His leg was at an awkward angle, and he shifted, exhaling as a wave of relaxation swept over him.

Laying there in stunned silence, Dash lost track of time. Eventually he became aware of the other body next to his. Jennifer lay beside him breathing softly, but occasionally he heard what might have been a sob. He levered himself up to look at her. She saw him looking at her and rolled over to embrace him.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," she whispered. "I just don't do this kind of thing. I mean, I love my husband, and..."

Dash propped himself up on his elbow and looked down at her. A small tear had formed in the corner of her eye, and he dabbed it away with a finger. "Don't be sorry," he said. "You couldn't help it. It was Puck."

"You said that before, but, uh... I wasn't exactly listening, was I?" She sniffed and wiped a finger across her nose. "Excuse me, but I have to blow my nose." She rolled to the side of the bed and pulled a tissue from the box that sat there. Once the chore was done, she turned back towards him. "Puck? You mean like Shakespeare's Puck?"