AH Fantasies Ch. 00: Introduction

It was New Year's Eve and Angelica Hoare was sitting behind the counter of the Worthless & Bollocks antique store in Little Mingeton, counting down the minutes until the end of her shift. She had no plans for that evening. While most nineteen year olds would have been planning wild nights out, involving copious amounts of sex, drugs and alcohol, in no particular order, Angelica Hoare had nothing to look forward to, other than a night of watching Strictly Come Dancing and saying prayers with her elderly parents.

The Reverend and Mrs Hoare were God-fearing people, who'd been pessimistic about the fate of their daughter's soul from the moment she was begat. What terrified them wasn't so much the wicked temptations of the world into which they were about to bring her, but the unspeakable enjoyment that both of them had gained from the act of conception.

Mrs Hoare had done her utmost to think of England as she lay back and allowed her husband to lift her nightgown. But very soon, that green and pleasant land became a place that was surrounded by stars and rhythmic thrusts -- her hips reaching out to meet her lawfully wedded husband as they went forth with loud groans, and multiplied, just as God had intended them to do.

There were no more children after Angelica. After a couple of days of non-stop procreation, Mrs Hoare came down with a nasty case of thrush, which she in turn passed on to the Reverend Hoare. The localised itching made it obvious to both of them that this was a sign of God's disapproval, and once the Canasten had been purchased it was decided that there was to be no more sex in the Hoare household.

There were two consequences to this decision. The first was that Angelica was eighteen before she discovered that it wasn't the stork who'd delivered her, but a gay midwife called Julian. The second was that once she discovered this, she developed an interest in sex that was unrivalled in the history of her village.

It was the moment that her parents had dreaded for a very long time, and was made infinitely worse by the fact that Angelica had matured into a very attractive young woman with pert nipples. The admiring glances cast in her direction by both men and women didn't escape the Reverend and his wife, neither did the seductive moans that drifted from her bedroom at night.

Out of desperation, they sent her to work with an elderly parishioner by the name of Mr Worthless. He was partially-sighted and almost deaf, and had been through so many hip replacement operations that it was a far safer option than enrolling Angelica at the convent, where the nuns were younger and quick-fingered. Best of all was that the people who frequented Mr Worthless' antiques store were almost antiques themselves.

For a spirited girl it was probably the worst scenario imaginable, but for Angelica, opportunity knocked very softly. The hours were long and lonely, and Mr Worthless paid her less than she would have earned at McDonalds. But things had changed in the world of antiques-trading -- so much so that slow-witted Mr Worthless was already behind the times in the '30s. As far as the internet went, it was as much a mystery to him as quantum physics, so he left that sphere in the eager hands of his new assistant, who in turn used it to satisfy her obsession with erotic fiction.

Angelica may have counted down the minutes she spent in that dingy store, but only because she didn't want to let them go. She'd lost count of the number of times she'd orgasmed on Mr Worthless' cherished Georgian chair as she filled her mind with literary smut. It was her last remaining link with the real world -- the world where people had feelings and acted on them accordingly.

Throughout the seasons she clung to every word and entered a twilight world of seduction, beautiful perversion and rampant sexual antics. There were days when her hand barely left her panties, and as she became more daring so she found new uses for relics under her custody.

When she arrived home at night she was often exhausted, and this was when the Reverend and Mrs Hoare felt pangs of guilt about the career they'd assigned to their daughter. But they rarely lasted long. At the end of the day Angelica had managed nineteen years with no tattoos, piercings, encounters with the police, unwanted pregnancies, nor emergency room visits to have her stomach pumped, and that was an accomplishment that would have made any parent proud.

Angelica had experimented with more graphic erotic sites, but was unimpressed by the big hairstyles, over-inflated breasts and penises the size of fire-extinguishers. And besides, watching people hump like animals and fake orgasm wasn't nearly as satisfying as allowing her own imagination to set the scene.

There were five minutes to go before Angelica would reluctantly lick her fingers and be forced to return home. If she read quickly, there might be time for another story. It was hardly as though she had to worry about her food going cold that night. This New Year's Eve, as with every other New Year's Eve of her life, the Hoare family would be consuming supermarket economy bread dipped in olive oil as their main meal of the day.

The Reverend Hoare claimed it was a necessary measure to remind them of the hunger and suffering in the world. Mrs Hoare, however, had suspected for a long time that the excesses of Christmas simply aggravated her husband's constipation, and that this was his way of easing out the old to make way for the new. Angelica never really thought about it at all. She was usually far too busy wondering why men had nipples, and whether the authors of erotic fiction led sex lives as exciting as their stories.

She selected a random story about a lesbian plumber, who'd discovered that toilets weren't the only things she could fit her hand into. The first few paragraphs were promising, and the description at the top of the second page took Angelica's breath away. She was mid-gasp when suddenly she heard a bell ring as the front door was opened and then closed.

An icy draft swept through to the back room, bringing her back to her senses. She got up and made her way to the counter. There was a tall, dark-haired man standing in the store. He was wearing an expensive business suit and had something in a brown paper bag, which he gripped tightly to his waist.

"Can I help you, sir?" she asked, startled to be looking at someone who was actually below the age of seventy.

"I don't want it anymore," said the man, and placed the paper bag on the counter. His gaze moved down his waist, and without thinking, Angelica followed it. Her mouth dropped open in astonishment. The man's pants were straining around his zipper to the point where it looked likely to snap.

"I don't think I want it either, thank you," replied Angelica, aghast.

"No! You don't understand! In there!" Thankfully, the customer pointed towards the bag on the counter, and Angelica peered inside.

It was a lamp. Angelica pulled it out carefully and held it towards the light. Definitely an antique, but it was filthy! She picked up a cloth and started to rub around the edges.

"No!" screamed the man.

Angelica jumped, and the lamp clattered onto the floor.

"Never, ever do that!"

"Why on earth not?" she asked, picking the lamp back up and setting it on the counter.

"Because that's how I got this!" wailed the man, gesturing towards the bulge in his pants. "Just one little rub was all it took..."

Angelica raised one eyebrow and took a deep, steadying breath -- "I should imagine that it hadn't been rubbed for a while, and was just rather sensitive from the lack of stimulation. But as far as the lamp goes, I'm afraid I can't take it until Mr Worthless is on the premises, which might be quite late tomorrow afternoon if his meals on wheels service is running late as usual."

"And what about Mr Bollocks?"

"Our cold climate didn't sit well with Mr Bollocks' constitution," replied Angelica. "He emigrated to Spain last year."

"I see..." There was a note of panic to the customer's voice. "But the truth is, I don't want any money for the lamp."

"Are you sure? It might be worth quite a lot. It looks..." She was about to say 'Persian', but then some letters at the bottom caught her eye. An L, an I, a T... Angelica followed the grubby letters until they spelled out 'Literotica'. She gasped. It was the name of her favourite erotic fiction site.

"... interesting," she said after an awkward pause.

He shook his head. "Keep it. Please! Do what you want with it, but I never want to set eyes on it again."

The bell was twinkling and the door rattling in its hinges before Angelica had the chance to respond. She looked at the lamp and cursed under her breath. It would never do to leave it in the store overnight. And besides, she didn't really want to. There was no record of her customer calling, let alone of leaving something priceless behind. And if it was worth as much as she thought it was... Angelica ran her finger over the curves of the lamp and allowed her imagination to stray. All that it needed was a very good clean. Once the layers of grime and dust had been removed, she could take a picture of it, post it on eBay and let the bidding commence!

With dollar signs flashing in her eyes, Angelica wrapped the artefact in newspaper and powered down the computer. The lesbian plumber would have to wait until 2007. She put on her grey duffel coat, pulling the hood down low to keep out the stormy night. As she stepped out into a wall of wind and rain she took refuge in a world of fantasy, which tonight revolved around the kind of clothes she'd buy with her earnings from the lamp.

Of course, that was bound to create problems in itself. She'd have to be particularly inventive to explain the latex corsets and crotchless panties when it came to laundry day. But still, there was no harm in dreaming, especially not when she was just skimming the tip of her iceberg of potential wealth. And so it was that Angelica Hoare whiled away her three mile walk home.

By the time she reached the drab stone building at the top of the hill, dinner (all three slices of it) was already on the table, and the Reverend and Mrs Hoare were standing behind their stern wooden chairs, waiting to say grace.

"Did you have a good day at work, Angelica?" asked her father, glowering at her through wild and unruly eyebrows.

"Yes, father."

"Good."

The pleasantries now over, Angelica took her place at the table and closed her eyes.

"Dear Lord God," began the Reverend Hoare in a booming theatrical voice. "We beg your forgiveness for the excesses of 2006..." He paused, as an ominous rumble escaped from his stomach. "And we pray that you give us strength to resist the temptations that 2007 casts before us. You have thrown us into a dark valley of adulterers, sodomites, working girls, pole dancers and lipstick lesbians galore -- and yet, we cling to the truth and beauty of your word. Oh, Lord, make us pure..."

"...but not yet," said a devilish little voice inside Angelica's mind.

"Amen."

The rest of the meal took place in silence. Once it was over, Angelica helped her mother with the three dishes, before settling down in front of the black and white television to watch the kind of programme that was meant for people with an IQ in single figures.

There had been times in the past when she'd found the skimpy dresses and tight-fitting pants of the dancers titillating. But not tonight. Tonight Angelica Hoare's mind was fixed metal rather than wood. The only curves she saw through those sequined lycra costumes were those of the lamp, and very soon the restlessness overcame her.

"I'm very tired tonight," she announced at the first commercial break. "I think I might take an early night."

Mrs Hoare peered at her daughter suspiciously. Being the person responsible for the family laundry, it hadn't escaped her notice that there were mornings when Angelica's panties were soaked. Most mornings, as a matter of fact -- especially when Angelica had complained of feeling tired the evening before. It was a mystery that the timid, grey-haired woman had been wrestling with for quite some time. Should she mention something to her husband? Or was this just a symptom of some unspeakable feminine ailment that she was yet to encounter in her own lifetime? Wisely, she pursed her lips and resolved to take Angelica to the doctor at the first possible opportunity.

Angelica didn't even bother brushing her teeth that night. During the course of the year she had been thinking a lot about her situation. If she were to live a normal life, then she would have to break away from the narrow clutches of her parents. Yet on Mr Worthless' wages she'd be lucky to afford the rental of a PO Box, let alone a proper home. The lamp was quite possibly the key to freedom that she'd been seeking for longer than she cared to remember.

She pulled the package out of her coat pocket and unwrapped the newspaper. After the glittering images in her mind, looking at the small and rather dull lamp again was rather a disappointment. She needed some kind of duster. Angelica glanced around the room. Given her own way, she would have used any of the fabrics or upholstery of the house. It was all equally drab and horrible, from the moth-eaten green velvet curtains to the washed out pink blanket that covered her bed.

After some deliberation, she decided on a pair of khaki-coloured woollen panties, which her mother had bought for the express purpose of making sure that her daughter never got laid. Angelica picked them up and gave the lamp a brisk rub. The difference it made within the space of a few seconds was incredible, and she rubbed again, a broad grin spreading out over her face.

Suddenly she was thrown backwards by a powerful explosion. The lights flickered and clouds of dust hung around her room like a swirling mist. As she came to her senses she noticed how her 'God is Love' tapestry on the far wall was hanging at an angle, and deep scorch marks lined the walls and ceiling. Her ears still buzzing, she sat up, still clutching her panties, and waited for something to happen. But nothing did.

There were no visions of holy angels, no cries of alarm from her parents downstairs, and not even the sheep outside her window seemed particularly alarmed by what had just taken place.

The only thing that seemed unusual was the music from the television downstairs, which was far louder than her parents normally permitted. Angelica listened for a few seconds. It wasn't dancing music at all -- in fact, unless she was very mistaken, it was a particularly bad synthesised version of Greensleeves... and it wasn't coming from downstairs -- it was coming from her bed.

Her mind reeling, Angelica crossed over and stuck her ear to the mattress. Instantly the sound became muffled. It had to be something else. She ripped back the sheets and continued her search. What she was looking for was a complete mystery, and what had just happened an even bigger one. Angelica wasn't even thinking anymore. And then she realised -- the music was coming from the lamp!

Picking it up, she groaned as the music started again. It had been bad enough the first time round -- on loop play it had the potential to break her sanity, especially in the wake of what had just happened.

She picked the lamp up and suddenly the music stopped.

"Thank you for your patience," said a voice from within the lamp. "Due to an unusually high volume of callers, wish requests are taking slightly longer to process than normal."

Angelica opened her mouth to ask a question, but was silenced by the return of Greensleeves. Horrified at the prospect of having to listen to any more of it, she gave the lamp a violent shake.

"Your call is valuable to us," said the voice. "Please be aware that during holiday periods --"The words were cut off by a burst of background noise, and then a new voice mumbled something through the spout of the lamp.

"I beg your pardon?" asked Angelica.

There was a long drawn-out sigh. "My name is Suneeta and I am speaking to you from our call centre in Mumbai. In order to process your wishes in the most effective way possible, please press one on your keypad for wishes of a financial nature, two for health, three for family, four for food, five for career, and press six and nine simultaneously for sex, drugs, rock and roll, or any other requests."

Angelica turned the lamp over, but as she'd suspected there was no sign of any keypad.

"I'm sorry," said Suneeta. "Your choice has not been recognised. In order to process your wishes in the most effective way possible, please hold while I connect you to another operator."

"Sixty-nine!" blurted Angelica. "Please! Don't put me on hold again!"

"Please repeat yourself, caller?"

"SIXTY NINE!!!!!!!" screamed out Angelica.

"Angelica????" called her mother's voice from the bottom of the stairs.

Angelica glanced nervously at her bedroom door, before leaping over and sliding the bolt across it.

"Please hold."

"Oh, fuck!"

The air was filled once more with the jaded strains of Greensleeves, and for the first time in her life Angelica understood what it was that drove some people to kill themselves.

"Angelica, who are you talking to up there?" persisted her mother. But Angelica wasn't listening. Beads of sweat had broken out on her face, and she was attempting to smother the lamp with her pillow.

"Angelica!" This time it was the Reverend Hoare. "Come down here immediately!"

"Hello, caller! I am Deepak, and I am the duty manager for sex, drugs, rock and roll and all other options!"

Angelica uncovered the lamp, her jaw dropping slightly at the man's enthusiasm for his job.

"How may I help you today?"

"... I'm trying to clean the lamp," replied Angelica.

"If you hold the line I will put you through to a colleague who --"

"NO!" roared Angelica, starting to foam at the mouth. "I just need to clean the lamp so that I can sell it on eBay and never hear another bar of Greensleeves for the rest of my life."

"Is that your wish?"

"How do you mean?"

"That you wish for the lamp to be clean?"

"Of course!"

There was a blinding flash of light, and suddenly Angelica found herself dazzled by the gleaming metal of the lamp.

"You have two more wishes, caller. In order to process them in the most effective way possible, please press one on your keypad for wishes of a financial nature, two for health, three for family, four for food, five for career, and press six and nine simultaneously for sex, drugs, rock and roll, or any other requests."

Angelica sat down and took a deep breath. "You mean I can wish for absolutely anything in the world?"

"Yes, anything -- but only twice."

She had two shots at making the world her oyster, and not all that much time to decide. Footsteps were now thundering up the stairs. Angelica's heart began to race. She needed to be away from her parents, maybe not forever, but at least at this present time. She racked her brains. Her imagination flitted back to the stories she read at Worthless & Bollocks. What if she wished to live out one of those as the main character? Which one would she choose? Angelica chewed away at one of her fingernails.

"Angelica, this is your father! Open this door right now!"

Angelica gazed at the lamp and nodded slowly. "I wish that I could see what writers of erotic fiction get up to at night."

She smiled to herself. This was going to be good ... voyeurism at its very best - better than porn! This was a journey that would take her to the heart of the erotic mind and put her finger on its very pulse.

There was a flash, and suddenly Angelica Hoare was no longer in her draughty and rather Spartan bedroom. Lights, sounds and images whirled around her in a vortex as a sense of weightlessness rose from her stomach. For a few seconds she wondered if she was about to hurl, and then as suddenly as it started, it stopped.