Faeophobia - Do-Me Dust Pt. 02

Part Two - Hot Mamacita

Finley ran towards the fearful shrieks and angry barking.

It was stupid. He didn't know how to deal with a pack of feral mutts beyond possibly getting chewed on, but something in those dismal cries dragged his feet into an all-out sprint, book bag jouncing awkwardly at his side.

"Idiot, all you had to do was get on the damn bus." The scrawny youth berated himself, rounding a corner and nearly tripping over a toppled garbage can. "Downtown isn't safe after dusk, and look at you now, acting like a fat-headed fool."

Another scream, more baying, and the sounds of cruel laughter echoed from the grimy alleyway cutting between a shuttered pawn shop and a boarded-up storefront. He slowed to catch a breath and cast about for help. The darkening street was empty of traffic, and the lamps flickered fitfully above in a foreboding fashion.

The south side of Madison was unappealing enough during daylight hours; after sunset, it became a crime-infested hellhole. Finley knew all about seedy bars, unlicensed alchemists, and illicit flesh peddlers who nested like rats in the shady part of town.

The ounce of Devil's Lettuce in his bag was a testament to their entrepreneurial spirit.

Now, his hare-brained plans to earn some extra dough by selling chop to clueless college kids were going to get him mauled.

"Stupid Fae whore. You're gonna regret waltzing onto our turf, flashing your disgusting tits and ass at our men." Spat a voice that doubtless smoked a pack a day.

"Please... I-I'm lost and didn't realize this was claimed territory. Call off your hounds; let me pass in peace, and I shall depart your holdings forthwith."

The oddly archaic patois of the panicked feminine reply captured Finley's attention enough to risk a peek into the shadows. Two dumpy middle-aged women dressed alike in denim on denim had... something cornered against a chain link fence. They clutched taut leashes as three snarling dogs leaped and snapped at their terrified prey.

Were those fucking Pomeranians?

The ill-tempered fuzzballs yipped and nipped at a shivering pile of dirty rags wedged between the fence and a rusty dumpster while the menacing pair cackled.

"I don't think we will, girl. You fairy bitches should all go back to where you came from, not bewitching our husbands and sons with your foul magic, luring them into depravity. Well, you're going to learn this is a good, god-fearing neighborhood, and your kind ain't welcome around here."

Finley had heard enough.

Anti-Fae sentiment wasn't uncommon in the decades since the Celestial Conjunction, but he wasn't about to stand by while poorly attired bigots armed with toy dogs threatened an innocent. He had about enough backbone to face down those odds.

That, and a handy length of splintered wood, looking like a broken table leg, stuck out amongst the trash scattered across the sidewalk. He scooped it up with clammy fingers.

"Hey, you leave her alone!" He waved the improvised bludgeon, trying to project a commanding tone. "She said she would leave. This doesn't have to get ugly."

Two cold, flinty glares turned on Finley. Creased brows pinched in irritation. They muttered curses in low voices but yanked on the leashes, dragging their yapping pooches as they exited the dirty alleyway, shouldering roughly past him as they left.

"Goddamn fairy fucker." The chain smoker griped, letting her furry pup snap at Finley's ankle. He hopped away with a yelp. "Best watch yourself around these parts, boy. We'll not soon forget this."

A spike of anxiety lanced his thudding heart until they were gone, and Finley rushed to the trembling heap of tattered cloth curled into a ball beside the dumpster.

"Are you okay, Miss?"

Enchanting sapphire eyes peered back at him. Bright as a cloudless summer sky and wide with relief. Hair like molten gold spilled from beneath a threadbare blanket that shrouded the crouching form, and just a hint of supple, bronzed flesh could be seen under the many layers of raggedy cloth.

The sweet scent of tropical flowers quickly overpowered the reek of stinking refuse in the close confines of the alley, making Finley's mind swim with the dizzying aroma.

"You... you rescued me." A breathy voice like the wind rustling autumn leaves whispered in awe. "My knight errant has come to the aid of this forest maiden and saved me from harm. The stories of mortal heroes are true. After so many long years, I have finally found my valiant defender."

Delicate hands lifted to push back the ratty covering like a wedding veil. The face beneath was streaked with dirt but undeniably alluring. Lips as red and juicy as ripe summer berries quirked into a shy, nervous smile. A wilted flower crown adorned a mass of tangled honey locks.

Even as Finley stared into her captivating eyes, the blossoms opened, and a puff of golden pollen dusted the cracked cement around her bare feet.

"What... who are you?" He stammered, adrenaline still riding his veins.

"I am Aurelia, dear hero." The gorgeous Fae allowed the stained fabric to slide off her slim shoulders, revealing the deep slopes of her tanned cleavage. "The fates and stars have seen fit to bless this wandering woodland spirit by bringing us together in this strange land. You saved me from those wicked crones and their nasty creatures, for which I shall be forever in your debt."

"Ah... don't mention it. Look, we should probably hightail it out of here before they come back with company. There's a bus stop one block over. Where are you staying?"

"With you, of course, Sir Knight. Destiny has bonded us this eve." Aurelia said demurely, fluttering luxurious lashes at Finley. Her brilliant sapphire gaze fixated on him. "Where you go, I follow, lending what little aid I can on our journeys together. May I know my handsome savior's name?"

"I don't know about any of that other stuff, but you can call me Finley." He reached down to help the bedraggled beauty to her feet. "I live in student accommodation on campus. Strictly no Fae allowed, but we'll see about getting you cleaned up at least. I'm guessing you don't have a few bucks for bus fare either?"

"Sadly, I have not witnessed any stags since leaving my homeland." She sighed, rising and pressing her firm body into his skinny frame. The tropical aroma enveloped him entirely, and sprinkles of glistening pollen drifted around them. "I dearly miss their mating calls and the clashes of the bulls in the fall. So lively and primal in their passions."

"Yeah. Okay. Great. I'll take that as a no." Finley muttered, looking up at her. Aurelia had over five inches on him. Long, tall, graceful inches, which his hardening crotch didn't mind a bit. "It'll be fine. It's only one night, then we'll find someone who can get you home or wherever you are headed."

"Thank you, my bold protector." She crooned, draping slender arms around his neck before leaning in for a brief but fierce kiss.

That was over a month ago.

________________

Carl jingled his keys conspicuously as he locked the front door.

"Mom, are you home yet?" He called into the cozy living space.

Silence greeted the dark-haired sophomore. With a grin, he cast his ball cap onto a coat hook and hurried to the kitchen to unpack the prize smuggled in his backpack.

The previous evening at his part-time job was beyond crazy.

As the only son of Puerto Rican immigrants without a lick of athletic prowess, it was drilled into Carl from a young age that he would be earning his way through college--and no, getting a college education was not up for debate.

Clarita and Mateo Burgos, his mother and father, had not sailed to the Land of the Free--practically swam the distance to hear them recount it--to raise a lazy flojo or freeloader. They worked themselves to the bone at thankless jobs to provide for their beloved Carlos, and he was expected to do no less in return.

That was fine, even if juggling nighttime employment, study, and sleep while maintaining a passable GPA was a burden. Carl honestly appreciated the sacrifices his parents made to grant him the opportunity, and their tireless work ethic was apparently genetic.

Sure, the evening catering gig was far from glamorous. Still, every dime went towards tuition, and he held out hope that his experiences serving canapes to the more moneyed set could be wrangled into a laudable tell-all essay somewhere in his sociology degree.

Because, all too often, people forgot that the faceless Latino wearing a monkey suit and pouring overpriced champagne had ears, and sometimes, very rarely, Carl got to see some truly outrageous shit.

"Ah, there you are." He smiled, sliding the styrofoam box from his bag and gently resting it on the laminate countertop. "My golden ticket to the night of my life."

Employment and study were all well and good, Carl considered, but he was still a red-blooded male at college. He craved the excitement and range of experiences his fellow students so freely enjoyed. Moreso given that he was enrolled at none other than Madison University; the flagship campus that admitted the beautiful and mysterious Fae into their hallowed halls.

The global turmoil sparked by the Celestial Conjunction and the return of magic to the mortal realm last century had eventually reduced to a manageable simmer. The Folk were back along with all the arcane bullshittery that came with them.

Satyrs, leprechauns, sprites, dryads, and every other variety of mythical beastie could be found carving their nook into modern earth life. Goblins and gnomes, in particular, had taken to the manufacturing industries in a big way, and the average height of an employee in Amazon's distribution hubs was under four feet tall.

Several earth elementals had settled in Yellowstone National Park, disappointing Volcanologists and doomsday preppers with the subsequent drop in seismic activity.

The new postcards featuring gigantic women formed from living lava relaxing naked in bubbling tar pits with their fiery geolithic knockers out were pretty great though. They were an effective hook to draw tourism back to revel in the wonders of the natural world.

The Fae were everywhere, insinuating themselves into human culture at every level. Carl had dropped into the local 7-Eleven last week to purchase a stick of gum, only to find a hulking, cow-horned minotress with udders and biceps larger than his skull squeezed into a uniform apron behind the register.

She had a bashful smile and dewy doe eyes as she rang up his purchase, toying coyly with the brass ring in her bovine nose, asking him if there was anything else--anything at all--she could assist him with.

The Folk were all like that. Enticingly exotic, primarily female, and randier than a caravan of stoats. Apparently, it had something to do with a declining male population in their home realm, but all Carl knew for certain was a lot of them were flocking to the more... adult industries.

In many cases, on actual wings.

Opening the box with slow reverence, he grinned at the baked tidbits within. They glimmered with golden flecks, half a dozen bite-sized quiches procured from the frat mixer last night.

The school was already abuzz with sordid rumors of the party--unbelievable tales of wild sex and unquenchable lust fueled by magics unknown.

Unknown to most others, that was. Carl had been there, hidden in plain sight by virtue of his waiter's garb and a serving tray, blending into the background of the kitchen when the senior brothers of Beta Theta Fi started dusting entire platters of appetizers like fields of corn.

They had been excited about a new party drug, and its effects did not disappoint.

The outright orgy that had followed was the stuff of campus legends. Carl had watched with fascination as young coeds literally busted out of their suddenly inadequate tops and slinky club dresses. Breasts expanding, tummies shrinking, legs lengthening, and butts growing thicker.

He had threaded through the gyrating party-goers, pushing glittery food into hungry hands and viewing acts of depravity that would give a dead man a hard-on. Not that stiff dicks had been in short supply. Even the most modestly endowed males in attendance were sporting eye-gouging boners.

Guys and girls fucked like pornstars. Their altered physiques supercharged to the point of horny madness. It was like a cathouse on crack, reckless and steamy with sticky heat. Nobody cared about risks or consequences, only concerned with getting off in every way imaginable.

It had all been very hot and extremely irresponsible, in Carl's opinion.

Like any good Spanish catholic, he was leery of witchcraft. Fae magic may have featured in Madison U's current curriculum, but he kept to the strictly human sciences. As a cautious, type-A personality, Carl didn't go in for surprises unless they were thoroughly researched and proven, beyond a doubt, to be safe.

That was why he had absconded with his styrofoam container of sparkling treats, waiting patiently to hear the eventual outcome or ultimate fallout from the evening's festivities rather than joining like an impetuous knucklehead.

Apparently, the physical changes were only temporary. Campus security had swooped in and scooped up the worst cases for holding in their magically warded overnight lockup. By lunchtime the next day, most offenders were released with a stern warning, sheepish grins, and appropriately proportioned college student bodies.

At least those whose reputations hadn't taken a beating. A few key members of the famously stuck-up Delta Xi Gamma sorority had come away with egg--or something of a similar viscosity--on their snobby faces.

With any lingering concerns put to rest, Carl was ready to expand his horizons with a cute coed or two. A few names and faces came to mind--freewheeling hotties who weren't averse to a good time or his flirtatious overtures. Adding a pinch of gold dust would seal the deal on a spectacular night of magically enhanced boning.

Opening the fridge, he secreted the pastries away behind a brown paper bag of cheese quesitos on the bottom shelf. A yawn creaked his jaw, and the idea of a quick nap before tackling the day's reading material was very appealing.

"I'll be back for you later." He whispered before shutting the door.

________________

"They've extended your contract? How much longer?" Clarita held the phone between her shoulder and ear, draping her coat across the back of a chair. "Another week? I will miss you, corazón, but I understand."

The call ended too soon. As an offshore worker, Mateo labored for back-breaking hours and could only use his cell phone during between shifts. They were fortunate to have service at all. Only a few oil rigs in the Gulf of Mexico had signal boosters; most relied on satellite communication or spotty wi-fi to maintain contact with the mainland.

She sighed. Her husband was a good man who slaved endlessly to provide for his family, but she missed his presence dearly. Sleeping alone in their marital bed for weeks at a time was not the dream she had envisioned upon immigrating to the United States.

They hadn't been blind to the hardships laid out before them when making that life-changing decision. The journey had been expensive, and the visas were costly, but in the end, they had made it as legitimate green card holders, prepared to do whatever it took to build a new life as a family.

Sweat and sacrifice paid for the humble tract house in a low-income suburb of Madison. A neatly kept plaster and tile construction that abutted the neighbors on both sides. Clarita could extend her arm out a window and touch the untreated timber fence that divided them, and the backyard was barely a strip of dying weeds with a small herb garden cultivated against the rear wall.

She was proud of the home regardless. She and Mateo had earned it together. Endless hours at the aged care facility as a nursing assistant kept her away more than she would have liked, so she could only imagine her husband's frustration at his prolonged absences.

She prayed nightly for his safe return.

The soft beats of lofi music hummed down the hallway leading to the bedrooms. Clarita smiled fondly at the familiar sound; her precious Carlos was home and studying diligently as always. He was growing into a fine young man--earnest and hardworking--inheriting his father's tall, swarthy frame and charming smile with her dark hair and piercing hazel eyes.

As a mother, she knew she was biased but didn't miss assessing glances the local chikas sent his way.

Gracias a Dios her son wasn't like the other skirt chasers swaggering around the streets like adolescent peacocks, Clarita thought, stepping out of her white flats and wiggling her toes. He was going to get a proper college education and make something of himself. The Burgos family name wouldn't be remanded to the ranks of those struggling from paycheck to paycheck forever.

They would be more than another overlooked statistic in the soul-grinding system of bureaucracy.

Wandering into the kitchen on stockinged feet, she stretched and groaned as several tired muscles protested in complaint. Her stomach growled too. The corporate-run care facility kitchen charged staff and residents alike for meals, an expense Clarita couldn't justify on a strict budget.

Home cooking was simply more frugal.

Opening the refrigerator, she spotted her lunch, forgotten in the pre-dawn rush to catch the early bus--a brown paper bag with grease stains at the bottom. The quesitos would be fine after a minute in the toaster oven, something to tide her over until she prepared a hearty dinner of asopao de pollo.

Setting the bag aside, she checked to ensure she had the ingredients. Chicken thighs, celery, corn, onion, and peppers were all there. Clarita was hunting for the cilantro when a small styrofoam container stuffed in the back caught her attention.

With a delighted smile, she straightened and inspected the contents. Six fancy little egg tarts sparkled up at her.

Her Carlos was such a considerate boy. Bringing home little treats like these when he could, swearing they didn't match her empanadas in taste and sharing them with his aging mother.

"Oh, my sweet Cariño."

The baby cannoli last week had been lovely, crunchy pastry powdered with sugar and filled with creamy ricotta. These quiches shimmered expensively with confectioner's gold, and Clarita's stomach grumbled.

Popping one between her lips, she chewed, then moaned in pleasure. The delicate flavor was divine, even if the crust was a bit stale. Dumping the bag of quesitos back on the bottom shelf, she turned her thoughts to a relaxing shower before dinner.

And maybe another tiny quiche to quell her hunger. They were incredibly moreish.

________________

Clarita frowned at her naked self in the bathroom mirror as she waited for the shower to warm.

She hated to waste water, but the pilot light in their dinky gas heater had a bad habit of extinguishing itself without warning, and an unexpectedly cold shower wasn't pleasant at the end of an arduous day.

Shaking out her strict bun of raven hair, Clarita tried to ignore the hints of gray as she combed out the tangles with her fingers. They seemed premature. Too distinguished for a woman in only her fourth decade. But life would take its due, and at least she didn't have the extra padding many others gained in the inevitable march toward their more venerable years.

Twelve-hour days of lifting, fetching, and pushing around the senile in uncooperative wheelchairs was better than any gym membership. Not eating as well as she could also contributed to maintaining her lean, sinewy figure. Stress, too, possibly gifted Clarita with the wiry frame of a scrappy bantamweight fighter rather than the willowy beauty of her youth.