Abigail's Awakening Pt. 07

Jack waited near the back of the shoppe, idling, picking up and reading nearly every single gift card on the shelf, while he waited for the older lady to get done shopping. Finally, she settled on a few embossed notebooks and a votive candle. She paid Abigail and left the store.

Abigail got out from behind the counter and walked over to Jack, who was laughing at a few of the cards, and he showed them to her, but she didn't find them funny right now.

"Listen," she said, "I need to tell you something. It's important."

"I know. You have feelings for me, but you can't follow them because I'm a witch."

"No," she retorted, "I don't have feelings for you, and you've gotta stop following me, because I'm dating Tim now, and I need to be faithful."

"You don't get it. I can't stop now."

"Why not?"

"I've got to listen to what my heart says."

"What does your heart say?"

He responded by kissing her, not just once but deeply and repetitively, making out with her, lips on lips. She made out with him too. Her mind wanted to say stop, but her body would follow him anywhere. When he touched her, she fell completely under his spell, he knew it, and this time he did not let go. He slipped her a little tongue from time to time. She forgot that she wanted him to stop and just went with the flow.

His hands started to flow over her back, caressing and massaging her up and down the spine. His hand wandered farther off, down onto her butt-cheek and gave it a squeeze. She laughed a burst of startled pleasure. With that, he knew that she was his, that he could drive her to the ends of the earth so long as he didn't stop before he got there.

Just then, the bell tinkled and an elderly couple walked in, looking around myopically. He had to let her go.

He sat at a rolltop reading desk and started reading "The Little Flowers of St. Francis" outwaiting the couple as they pored over ever last rosary bead in the store. Finally they paid for one and practically hobbled out of the store.

He wasted no time in approaching Abigail at the counter. She looked at him somewhat coldly and said, "You know it is your word against mine."

"About what?"

"Concerning whether any of that actually happened before."

"What on earth are you talking about, nothing happened." He rather charmingly blew her a kiss.

For that moment, she was struck speechless.

"Only in my wildest dreams," Jack said, then exited the store.

She pushed that little dalliance, that sweet nothing, into a dusty corner of her mind, and set her focus on her upcoming date with Tim. Anyone would agree that Tim was the more mature choice, right? A good, Catholic marrying type. She could make an honest man out of him.

Jack -- should she sat Booya? -- well, he was something else.

Abigail went into the employee restroom to change into her date clothes near the end of her shift. Stripped down to her skivvies, she looked at herself in the tarnished mirror and asked herself why she'd worn what amounted to the sexiest underwear she had in her modest wardrobe. Her ass looked bubby in the white boy-cut panties, and the matching white bra had a lacy texture. "Nothing's going to happen tonight, right Abby?" she asked her reflection. "Right."

Tim picked her up at closing time. He complimented her looks, and she thanked him for the compliment. The intensity wasn't there from the beginning, like it was with Jack, but is intensity all that important? She silently chastised herself for comparing them: that was all by accident, but this is on purpose.

They went to the Dreamside Cafe & Art Lounge and drank hot tea and looked at the exhibit of local artists. Tim looked large and rigidly out of place in this artsy environs, and Abigail absently thought that Jack would slip through this space as if he were at home with it. She wondered why she had chosen this place, except that she did like the tea, a vibrant green dragonwell, but that wasn't enough reason to drag Tim this far out of his comfort zone.

"You have massive hands," Abigail said, trying to distract him and start conversation.

He held them out, palms up, in front of him and looked at them. "I guess you're right."

"You must be big in other places too then, right?"

He paused then said, "I'm a little too modest to talk about it."

"Wow, what a man! For my part, I just wanted you to know that, yes, I'm frigid, but I'm not completely asexual."

"I can appreciate that. For my part, I enjoy my me time, once in a while."

"You don't mean what I think you mean, do you?"

He lowered his voice. "I masturbate."

"I hope you don't go to Mass without confessing that sin on your hands."

"You must be joking."

"And what do you think about," she said, "when you masturbate?"

He shrugged. "All kinds of pretty girls that I've seen."

"Look, I want you to bring me back to my car."

"What? Why?"

"Right now."

"Abigail, what's the big deal? Everybody masturbates!"

"That's not true. I don't, and I'm someone, so the fact is, not everybody does."

He didn't want to make a scene in the cafe, so he left with her, in dark silence, and he drove her back to her car. "Have a good night."

"Good night," Abigail said, curtly closing his passenger-side door.

She drove home, stifling tears. She played the Christian station but didn't sing along this time. She had gotten her hopes up, but now they were dashed, so she was just going to have to get over it. She thought she had a man in her life, for the first time ever, but that man turned out to be a perverted onanist, so she was going to be content to wait, and be alone, for now.

Her Mom was waiting in the living room when Abigail got home. She came right out and said, "I don't want to talk about it Mom, so please, please, please don't ask."

She went upstairs to her room, said her prayers, and got ready for bed.

She had a dream she was naked on stage. She stood there mortified looking out at an audience of all men, looking at her with lust in each pair of eyes. These men were cast in shadow, the spotlight was on her, but she could see what they were doing.

Even in her dreams, she had no understanding for man's need to masturbate. She thrashed about wildly on the stage. The torment was too much for her to bear. "I judge you all!" she screamed at the audience. "I do. I do. I judge you for what you do."

She felt something smack her on the side of the face, throttle her head to the left. At first she thought they were throwing rotten vegetables at her, lettuce and tomatoes. Then she saw another projectile miss her by a couple of feet. It was ejaculate. One by one and all at once, their cocks were going off. Their impossibly large loads rained down on the stage, soaking her in sticky semen. She tried to wipe it off her arms and face, but the audience kept coming and she was totally drenched in it.

A young man appeared from behind the curtain. He had long black hair and was oddly familiar to Abigail. The audience jeered at him. One onlooker yelled out: "Fuck her in the ass!"

The young man handed her something, a broomstick, said, "Fly away home."

"Where's home?" she said, looking with fear up at the audience, which was growing agitated, even post-orgasm, and was buzzing with the threat of rushing the stage.

"Where the heart is."

Suddenly, she was soaring above the city, all those men would've looked like mere ants from up here, and a crescent moon hung the sky to the east. She was riding the broomstick, not sexually like before, but as an aircraft.

The wizard appeared next to her, riding his own broomstick, and smiled at her with honest affection. "Hold my hand!" he said. They reached out into the sky toward one another, and their fingers locked together. They flew like this, straight on until morning.

Abigail woke up Wednesday a free woman, not unlike she'd always been, but more grateful for her own chastity than usual. She hugged herself. Thank God I'm still a virgin, she thought.