Blocked!

"I'm hallucinating", I wailed, "it's all the stress I've been under. Go away whatever you are; I don't want to see you."

"You are a very unkind person, Christopher," the apparition said, looking as if it was going to cry. "You wanted me to be real, and now you're telling me to go away. Well there are plenty of other authors who will be happy to have me around, so if you don't want my company, just press the delete button and we'll both be happy."

Following her precept I let my finger hover over the delete button.

"If you press that button I shall never come to you again, never ever. By the way, you forgot to select the text you want to delete."

I withdrew my finger from the button and flopped back in my seat staring at the...it...her... It was the Wendy of my creation, not naked however, but dressed rather tastefully in a warm slack suit, her blonde hair falling down her neck in a cascade that fanned out over her shoulders.

"I wrote you naked on a bed," I admonished her. "You're dressed."

"Well yes, darling, but that opening paragraph was really a teeny bit brash, don't you think? It's my contention that even the most gross of our readers like a bit of a lead up; you know, the lustful looks and groping hands, the slow undressing of me by whoever the man is. Incidentally, you haven't said who he is. Can I make up my own sex partner?"

"Yes...no...please, I've been having a bad time of it lately, so just tell me this is all some weird sort of joke and you are a real person."

"I'm as real as you want me to be and as solid as you can write me," she answered with another laugh. "If you don't believe who and what I am, then as I told you, just delete me and I'll never bother you again."

"No!" I almost screamed. "This is insane. I'm getting out of here right now."

I made for the door and I heard her laugh again; "You can't leave my darling Christopher. No until you've ..."

"Oh can't I," I yelled, "Just you watch me."

I turned to exit through the door, and there was no door. My brain did a few somersaults and I made a desperate effort to find the door, believing I must have been mistaken as to its location. There was just no door and, looking around, no windows either. In fact there was nothing except a room with a large double bed and the table with my lap top on it.

"Oh God", I moaned, "What the hell is going on?"

The apparition was sitting on the edge of the bed looking at me with smiling concern.

"Christopher, why don't you calm down? It's obvious to me you've never had this experience before, no wonder you're such a poor writer."

That got under my skin properly; "I'm not a poor writer. I've had several novels published."

"I know sweetie, but whom with? That grotty Eros and Cupid. You don't think that makes you a Hawthorne or Dostoevsky, do you?"

"Well, no, but..."

"There's no 'Well, no, but' about it, my darling. Part of your problem is that your characters are never real. You haven't visualised them clearly. That's where I can help you."

"How?"

"That's better Christopher, now we can get somewhere. It's really quite simple. You started to write about me, Wendy, not very well, but you were trying. Then you wanted me to be real, so here I am."

"But the room, it's all changed."

"Of course it has you silly boy, you haven't written the room in properly. All you had was a bed with me on it naked and some unnamed and undescribed fellow staring down at me. If you want more, you have to write it. See, you've been left your little computer, so why not make a start. Of course, if you don't want to go ahead, as I told you, you only have to press the delete button – don't forget to select the text – and it will all be as it was before I appeared."

"You mean I can create my own room?"

"Of course; and your own characters and situations and I can help you. I've worked with a lot of authors and many of them became quite famous. You've heard of George Eliot, Charles Dickens, J.B. Priestley and Jane Austen, haven't you?"

"You mean you've actually..."

"Of course I have. I even did a stint with Shakespeare once. I missed out on Balzac; young Eugenie gave him quite a bit of help though, lucky girl."

"This is crazy...impossible."

"Is it? Did you or did you not start to write about me?"

"Yes."

"Did you or did you not wish me to be real?"

"Well, I suppose so."

"Am I or am I not here?"

"I suppose you're here."

"At last he sees it," she said with a sigh. "Now, my dear man, make up your mind. Do you want me to stay here and help you write or do you want to delete me?"

"I don't know."

"Heaven help me, he doesn't know. I can't delete myself, its one of the things we are not allowed to do. Only the author can do that. But I can give you suggestions on where you're story ought to go and its characters. Now come on Christopher either let me help you or get rid of me. I mean, it's so easy for you these days. At one time if an author wanted to get rid of a character they had to scratch lines out with a pen, or work away with those awful pieces of rubber. Do you know some authors have had to throw whole pages away, even chapters. A lot of people don't know this, but when I was working with Emily Bronte she had to throw away nearly a whole book once and start again. All you've got to do is give a few clicks and press a button. Anyway, I'm getting sick of this hanging around so make up your mind."

"I'll be very sorry if you delete me, of course. Lots of male authors have fallen in love with me, even female authors, but most of them were so unattractive. Just think of bald old Shakespeare. I never could understand what his wife saw in him."

"The authors fall in love with you?"

"Of course, that's the important part of it. What's the use of an author writing about a beautiful sexy woman if he doesn't fancy her himself. How is he going to write convincingly?"

"So I'm supposed to fall in love with you?"

"I hope so. I mean, when I saw what a sexy hunk you are I thought, "It'll be nice to have a really seductive author for a change."

"Do you fall in love with the authors?"

"Sometimes, if they're sexy enough, but it can get a bit awkward you see."

"Awkward?"

She failed to respond to my question and said, "Well, do we work or not?"

My mother's old saw, "Nothing ventured nothing gained", came to mind. "All right, help me."

Chapter 5. Notes for a Melodrama.

"Praise be!" She exclaimed; "The boy has decided at last. Right, get to the computer."

"Now I suggest that we work on the location first. I think we couldn't do better than the one you were in. Mysterious forest clad mountain, old mansion – of course we can spark it up a bit, make it a remote mountain luxury hotel and improve the architecture and furnishing."

"And the service," I added.

"That's it, your getting the idea. We can have a proper hotel staff who waits to do our every bidding, but who are also very discreet. I know several characters we can call on for that. But let's get the place in order first."

"Well, we've got a bedroom."

"And a pretty uninteresting one it is too. All it's got is a bed. I suggest we scrub the bedroom for the time being, we can get back to it later. Let's begin with the delightfully quaint old entrance hall with its reception desk and wonderful pictures and sculptures by old masters. Now delete everything you've written so far except my name. For goodness sake don't delate my name or I'm gone like a puff of smoke."

I deleted and began to type in the opening scene in the entrance hall. As I did this the hall began to form around us with Wendy constantly making suggestions: "No, the Degas on that wall and the Rodin statue over there...no, no, no, darling, not that one. This is supposed be an erotic story, we want "The Kiss."

"What about the walls?"

"That sexy red colour I think."

I wrote in, "The walls were sexy red."

"My God, no," she exclaimed when we saw the result, "It looks too like a brothel. It's supposed to be an upmarket hotel not a sleazy whore house. Try "Cherry Red."

I typed it in and the result was somewhat more desirable. It still had the right hint of the erotic without being too blatant.

"It's still not quite right," Wendy said, contemplating. "Its paint and I think we want wallpaper, perhaps...perhaps with silver fleur-de-lis."

I typed.

"Mmm, wonderful darling. Now let's have a male receptionist clad in a morning suit with a carnation in his buttonhole...Oh excellent; now for my entrance. I've come meet my lover the famous athlete er...what shall we call him?"

"Spud Collins," I suggested off the top of my head.

Her lip curled. "Really Christopher, you are utterly hopeless. We need a romantic name, not someone called after a Potato".

"Well what do you suggest?" I retorted, somewhat miffed.

"What about Steel Wolf".

"Doesn't sound very romantic to me."

"That's because you're not a woman. To me it suggests someone strong and predatory; a man a girl would want to sacrifice her virginity for, and that's why I've come to the hotel, to offer him my maidenhood. I shall surrender my lovely body to his passionate embraces."

"If you say so. What next?"

"I go up to the reception desk; the receptionist who has seen me enter is transfixed by my beauty. He can barely speak as I give him my name. I am calling myself Mrs. Wendy Wolf and I ask if Mr. Wolf has arrived yet. He stammers out, "Yes madam, you are in the honeymoon suite. I shall ring for the porter to bring in your things from the Rolls Royce; meanwhile the boy will show you to your suite". He snaps his fingers, 'Boy'".

"I say Wendy, your laying it on a bit thick aren't you?"

"I'm only just getting started so just keep typing. As I cross the entrance hall following the boy I am suddenly frozen with horror. 'He' is here."

"Who?"

"Him".

"Who's him?"

"The incredibly wealthy, smooth, suave and sophisticated Duke of Rutshire".

"Why the horror?"

"He lusts for my gorgeous body. He has offered me wealth and status in the highest society. He says he will divorce his wife and marry me, but if I refuse he will kill me then himself."

"But he's old and ugly?"

"No, no, Christopher, he is young and handsome, women adore him, and it's his wife who is old and ugly. She's a wealthy American widow whom he married for her money. Are you getting all this down."

"I'm trying, I'm trying," I protest.

His sees me, and his black eyes flash with sensuous hunger for me. His wife is suspicious and drags him from the hall".

"Why don't you have him instead of this Wolf fellow?"

"Oh, you men can never understand. Steel is a virgin like me and I want his pure sweet adoration. Together we shall fly to a paradise of spiritual love".

"I'd go for the title and the money myself...unless...unless the Duke's wife takes the money with her if they get divorced."

"No, Christopher. That was all tied up when they got married. She handed the lot over to him."

"Go on, she wouldn't be so stupid."

"Christopher, this is a story. It's the struggle between good and evil, lust and love, power and purity. That old film director got it right...Cecil somebody...he said what you needed was a mix of violence, sex and religion. That's what people want. Virtue must triumph in the end, but before that you've got to have lots of blood, people being hacked to pieces, virgins violated, religious leaders thrown to the lions."

"In a mountain hotel?"

"Christopher, are you totally dense? I'm talking about broad principles, not specifics. Now can we get on with the story?"

"All right, so what happens next?"

"She goes to the honeymoon suite where her lover is waiting for her. She is shaking with apprehension, but the sight of Steel steadies her. His tall lithe figure – he's six feet two...no, make that six feet four – overwhelms her and she is soon ensconced in his arms, her vagina wet with lubricant her nipples hardening as he kisses her passionately".

"She pleads with him, 'Take me now my darling, I am all yours'. He tenderly unbares her..."

"Unbares?"

"All right, if you want to be so unartistic, strips her. He lays her gently on the bed – this is where your original opening comes in – then unba...strips him self. He stands beside the bed, gazing rapturously at her lovely body – that's me of course – his eyes take in her hair, her eyes, lips, neck, breasts and other sexual accoutrements. You can fill in the details you've used them often enough in your other stories".

"His manhood has risen like a splendid tower dripping etc."

"Hold on I can't keep up with you and your making me get horny."

"Just concentrate on the typing. She begs him to enter her. He says he doesn't want to cause her pain. She says she will rejoice in the pain of their love. Her legs are spread wide and he comes between them. He is about to thrust into her when the door bursts open. It's the Duke. He has a revolver and he cries out, "If I cannot have you no other shall."

"Bit melodramatic isn't it?"

"Look, Christopher, I'm trying to help."

"But Wendy, its all bits and pieces, I mean, things don't connect up."

"I'm not going to do the whole job for you, darling. You are supposed to be writer, I'm only a character in your story and I'm putting up with a lot. Just look at the bedroom, its right back where you started with just a bed. No nice dressing table or carpet. It's a honey moon suite, where are the cupids and hearts? Where is the champagne cooling in the ice bucket? I've even sacrificed a nice bit of lead up to the main event; you're going to have to put that in."

"Quite right to," said another voice – male this time.

"Do stay out of it Steel," Wendy said, and when I whipped round there the long streak was standing, stark naked like Wendy, his great shaft sticking up.

"No I won't stay out of it Wendy", he yelped, "This happens too often. I never get to make real love with you and always at the crucial moment some Duke or Earl or multimillionaire comes in waving a pistol and shoots one or both of us."

"Huh, you should complain Wolf, the only penetration I get with her is penetrating looks, and I'm the one who has to give them." It was the Duke, still waving his pistol about.

"Shut up you two," yelled Wendy. "If you don't I'll get Christopher to delete you."

"Don't bother, I'm of out of here," snarled Steel. "I've had enough of these stories. I'm going to go for stories about men washed up on desert islands where there are no women."

"I'm with you, Wolf," the Duke muttered, putting away his revolver.

"You ain't goin' nowhere."

It was the woman I had seen with the Duke in the hall. She is holding a nasty looking semi-automatic pistol.

"Nobody double-crosses the great granddaughter of Edgar J. Wagonhooker the Third."

With that she let loose with her pistol putting one bullet into the ceiling then one in the floor, but finding her target with the next two bullets.

Steel crumples and falls neatly to the floor. The Duke staggers back a couple of paces, pulls out his revolver and fires at his wife. She gives a shriek and falls lifeless, followed by the Duke who expires almost immediately.

Naked Wendy stood surveying the scene for a moment, then said, "Very good. You've got the nice outline of a story there."

"But the bodies!" I exclaimed.

"What bodies?"

I looked around, and they were gone as if they had never been. "You mean...?"

"It's just a story, darling."

I focused on the nude Wendy. My penis was hard as steel – why did I have to put it like that? - It was ready for a penetrating scene.

"Wendy, you're wonderful, beautiful."

"I am as you made me, Christopher but I'm glad you like me."

"Like you! I'm in love with you. I want you like I've never wanted any girl before."

"Don't darling," she said softly. "You see I'm..."

"I don't care what you are, I want you, now."

I went towards her with my arms outstretched to encircle...nothing.

Chapter 6. A Fresh Arrival.

A voice penetrated my consciousness: "Yer lunch."

I jerked awake. I had fallen asleep over the computer.

"And there's someone ter see yer."

"See me?"

"Yers. Show 'em in shall I."

My brain was still foggy with sleep and the scenes it had brought me.

"I suppose so."

"Right. Eat yer lunch while it's 'ot."

"Who the hell would come up here to see me," I thought, as I looked at the unappealing bowl of soup.

The door opened and I looked round, and froze. A slender figure was approaching me, hand extended.

"Wendy Wolf," she announced, "from Eros and Cupid."

"Wendy?" I almost yelled.

"Yes, Wendy, and I'm not deaf."

Her hand was small but firm as I held it in mine. I thought I was about to pass out. She was the Wendy of my...what...? Dream...? Hallucination...?

"Are you all right," she asked, "You've gone very pale."

"Just give me a moment," I pleaded, "I think I've had a very strange dream."

"You think you have?"

"Yes, sorry." I took a swig of the washing up water that passed for coffee and I think it was the sheer unpleasantness of the draught that revived me a little.

"What can I do for you, Mrs. Wolf?"

"Miss, and call me Wendy. I'm here for two reasons. The really nasty one is that Mr. Cupid sends his compliments and says if your story isn't in over the next fortnight, you needn't bother."

"Ah! And the other reason?"

"Mr. Cupid said you might want someone to type your manuscript, and that you'd pay me."

"Did he? Did he also tell you I haven't got enough money to pay you?"

"No, the lousy little bastard didn't. So I've come all this way just to deliver his message!"

"I'm afraid so."

"Have you written anything?"

"Oh yes, I've written thousands of words over and over again and deleted them."

"Ah, writer's block?"

She glanced over at the computer.

"You may have deleted thousands of words, but you've got a whole lot on the computer; look, you're up to page twenty."

"That's impossible; I haven't been able to get past the first paragraph for weeks."

I looked at the screen and she was right. At the bottom left of the screen was the page number, twenty.

My world seemed to spin again and I heard her voice as if down a long tunnel; "Mind if I take a look?"

"Help your self," I gasped.

I plonked myself in a chair and tried to recover while Wendy scrolled back and started to read.

Silence ensued, and as I recovered I began to focus on her straight back and long blonde hair, as she sat neatly in front of the machine. I moved to another chair to get her in profile, and sure enough, it was my Wendy. The nose, lips, neck and brea...

"She gave a gasp; "You've used my name, 'Wendy', and you've got me na..."

"Have I?"

"You're very complimentary," she said, turning her head to smile at me.

I noticed the colour of her eyes for the first time, dark blue.

"It's me all right, except I don't think I'm the most beautiful girl in the...that's just what she says here..."

She read on.

"This isn't a proper story, it's as if you've been making notes. Is that what you've been doing, just making an outline?"

"I suppose I must have been," I muttered.

She continued reading then gave another gasp; "You've even used my other name, Wolf. How did you know my name?"

"I didn't, it just...er...came to me."

"Odd!"

"Yes, isn't it."

She read to the end of what I had written, if I did write it, and said, "You've got the elements of a decent story here. I mean, obviously you haven't finished it and there are a lot of corny bits, but it could be good."

"Could it?"

"It just sort of comes to a stop. What happens after the shootings?"

"I haven't er...worked that out yet."

"Christopher...I may call you Christopher?"

"That's what you've been calling me all along. That and darling."