It's Always Time Act 03 Ch. 03

"Mm. It's the plum. And you don't wanna know."

Ursula shook her head, then cradled it in her hands. "Ow. Galatea, I don't know if I'm up for lesson five. I think I'm getting a sinus headache."

"It's not a sinus headache," Galatea's voice drifted over the sounds of Tupperware being resealed and restacked in the freezer. "Don't worry, though. It won't last long."

Ursula squeezed her temples. "But why did it start?"

"Because lesson five is starting." Galatea glided into the room, her green, frosty gel-flesh sporting a purple patina like the rind of an avocado. "And I'm permeating your blood-brain barrier."

Ursula gawked. "What? Why?"

Galatea affected a professorial cough. "Ahem. Lesson five: the mindfuck."

The pain ringing Ursula’s skull vanished into a heavy, beery buzz. She keeled to the left but propped herself up against an iron bedpost. "Oh, shit."

Galatea swooped in to stand a few feet from the foot of the bed, her starlit eyes dancing over Ursula’s face. "So that’s what getting drunk is supposed to feel like? I think I’ll stick with the green stuff."

The world wobbled worse when she shut her eyes so Ursula kept them peeled. She picked out her panicky reflection looking back at her from the vanity mirror on the other side of Galatea’s translucent, purple-green shoulder. "You can read my mind."

Galatea squinted, focusing her gaze somewhere directly behind Ursula’s nose. "No, not really. Just hindbrain echoes. You didn’t swallow enough nanomek, enough magic, I guess. Thirsty?"

“No,” Ursula said with a sloppy shrug. Galatea arched an eyebrow. Ursula blinked and swallowed. “Yes,” she choked out, clasping her throat. "Christ, yes."

Galatea smirked and pressed forward, pursing her gelid lips against Ursula’s right ear, her breasts brushing Ursula’s naked lap with a deliciously cool, powdery weight. "How thirsty?" she purred, the frozen floe of her breath skating down Ursula’s neck.

Ursula’s mouth worked but no words came out. Galatea shushed her, resting her chin or Ursula’s shoulder. Icicled hair skimmed her chest and back. "Don’t worry, little girl," Galatea whispered between quick freezing kisses on the curve of Ursula’s skull behind her ear. “You may still say 'Pygmalion.'" Galatea pried Ursula’s hand off the bedpost, slid it down her chilled gel-flesh and planted it on the slope of her ass. "If you want to."

Ursula trembled in silence.

"Good," Galatea said. She nudged Ursula prone onto the bed, spanning over the goth girl like a bridge of arctic ice. Ursula's trembling grew violent as she felt the slithery gel grow and expand beneath her hand. "Because you're so thirsty—and hungry now too, aren't you? Ah, but those words are too plain, too weak for what you're feeling now." Ursula shut her tearing eyes. "You feel emptied. Not in the way your pussy gets when you're desperately horny—the swollen, greedy pit between your legs. You feel…hollow with hunger." Galatea stretched higher until a nipple, purple as a plum and pearling with wine-dark nectar, brushed against Ursula's shivering lips just hard enough to splash a tiny drop of nectar between Ursula's parted teeth and onto her tongue.

Ursula’s eyes rolled back behind fluttering lids. Mindless and whimpering, she wrapped her arms around Galatea’s suspended back and dragged herself up. She latched onto the engorged nipple above her mouth, burying her head in Galatea's lush breast until jellied flesh clogged her ears and filled the world with her own pounding heartbeat and the taste of—

"'Ambrosia,'" Galatea sighed in Ursula's voice as Ursula drank, and drank, and drank. The word thrummed through the green girl's inner gel. "Promise you'll give me the recipe for your plum coulis after dinner, okay?"

Between swallows, Ursula went, "Mmf."

"No," Galatea chuckled, "for some reason I can't read or direct the part of your mind that cooks. Go figure. Maybe if you drank more, drank faster—Oh, oh my. You didn't need any h-help with that idea…"

"Mm," Ursula agreed, blush nectar dribbling down her chin. A few overeager swallows later and she fell back, her lips painted in pink-purple honey but her face scrunched in pain. "Nnf!"

"No," Galatea laughed again, "that's not me; I've opened enough ion channels already." She contracted her arcing back a bit to look Ursula in the eye. "It's just an ice cream headache. Relax." She patted Ursula on her gurgling belly. "Just relax and let me in your mind some more. All you need to do is trust me. You can trust me. I'll prove it. You can't speak, can you?"

Ursula opened her mouth but nothing came out so she shook her head. "Nnf."

"But you can say the safe word. Try it, if you wish. It won't count, this one time."

Ursula grinned. "Pygmalion."

Galatea returned her sweet smile. "So you trust me."

Ursula nodded and closed her eyes.

"Good. Headache gone? Good. Now relax." Ursula felt Galatea's heavy tits press against hers and drag slowly up her chest and neck, nipples weeping an icy trail of plum-and-citrus ambrosia across her skin. "And let me in some more." Unwilling to wait, Ursula heaved a breast to her lips and pressed the nipple against the roof of her mouth with her tongue until it expressed a trickle of ambrosia down her throat. "Mm, a little more." Ursula sucked the wide areola into her mouth and the trickle became a steady stream. "A l-little more."

Ursula reached up, snaked a hand over Galatea's stomach, and sank a couple of fingers into the green girl's pussy. Galatea's innermost gel was as molten as her ambrosia was frozen. Ursula pulled her fingers free, smeared the searing honey over their tips before running them over the lips of her own sex, never stopping the rhythm of her suckle.

"Oh, holy shit, yes," Galatea grunted. She slammed her gooey pelvis down. Ursula ground her sex up against it. The ice of Galatea's ambrosia and the fire of Galatea's pussy collided somewhere deep inside Ursula's body and being, churning until the boundaries between the sensations of cold and heat, the concepts of mind and body, and even the identities of "Ursula" and "Galatea" dissolved and lost all meaning to the goth girl, leaving nothing but the rush-and-gush of multiple orgasm. "Let me in a whole fucking lot more, and I'll mindfuck you straight into the fucking loony bin."

* * * *

Ursula floated on air. "That was incredible."

"Did you cum?" Galatea asked.

"Well, duh, yeah," Ursula said, "but…"

"But what?"

"It's weird," Ursula reflected. "It was either the fastest, hardest orgasm I've ever had in my life, or a bunch of little climaxes that seemed to go on, I don't know, for about a hundred years. I can't tell which…"

"That's because it's still happening," Galatea said.

Ursula drifted closer. "What?"

"Look down, little girl."

Ursula swiveled her attention downward. The gauzy white top of her bed canopy hung a few feet below her. Dropping her focus down through the canopy lace, Ursula spied Galatea, the green girl with the proportions of a porn-starlet and the height of a pro-league basketball player, writhing on the mattress beneath. Galatea's translucent curves played optical tricks on the much paler, leaner, and shorter girl thrashing under them, making the girl's limbs appear almost as boneless and bendable as Galatea's own.

"Oh my God," Ursula said, "I've been fucked right out of my body."

"Sorta," said Galatea, her voice coming from somewhere between Ursula's ears, or where Ursula's ears would have been if her point of view still coincided with her eyes. "You've entered an ecstatic trance. You're much stronger than you give yourself credit for. There's some serious shamanic mojo in here."

"Where? Where are you?"

"Inside you."

"Where inside me?"

"Everywhere."

On the bed, Ursula's arms clasped Galatea's back tight enough to break the surface tension and sink into the glue of the green girl's inner gel. "Ooh," Galatea's disembodied voice murmured, "I'm so glad I taught you lesson two." Galatea's body on the bed threw back its head and howled. "I love the feel of something solid inside me."

Ursula hovered higher. "If we're down there," she said, "why are we also up here?"

"You and I need to have a little talk."

"Can't you just read my mind?"

"That's what I'm doing now," Galatea explained. "But you're too powerful for me to just take what I want."

Ursula followed her lead. "Well, what do you want to talk about?"

"Your soap, for a start. What does it do?"

"By itself, nothing," Ursula confessed. "But I always keep a little of the base left over from each batch I make, and I bathe with it, too, so I've got a sympathetic link to whoever uses it in case I need one. The law of contagion, you see, is a keystone force in sympathetic magic and I don't need to explain how magic works to a mind-reading, six foot tall girl made of green goo, do I?"

"Not really," Galatea admitted, "although I bet there's a lot you can teach me. I don't know how I know the things I know, but I must at least half-remember the things I don't know, because I know enough to know I don't know them, you know?"

"No."

"Oh. Besides, I'm six-foot-six, usually, thank you very much. Dee likes to look up into my eyes. Usually. Anyway," Galatea continued, "who've you given the soap to?"

"Let's see," Ursula said, ticking off the list with imaginary fingers, "Granddad, my mom and dad, my big brother—to keep tabs on them. Diane and Joy from work—Oh, and that girl who works at the Starbucks because she's got a great…uh, personality. And I tried to give some to Bee, because he worries me."

"Bee?"

Ursula nodded, or at least the focus of her vision bobbed up and down. "Your downstairs neighbor. Quiet guy, very intense. He wouldn't take any soap. Wow," Ursula added, distracted, "look at us down there. We're still cumming."

"Why did you offer Bee soap?"

"Like I said, I worry about him. Hasn't he complained about the racket you and Dee make yet? If I were your downstairs neighbor, I'd be calling the cops so I could get some sleep."

"Is that why you gave some to Dee?" Galatea asked, unfazed. "Because he worried you?"

"No," Ursula said. "Because Dee terrified me."

"Good," Galatea said. "But did you know why?"

"No," Ursula said again. "He's gabby, friendly, and utterly clueless. Most straight women I know think he's charming and disarming, but after a few months of waiting for him to make a move, they add 'frustrating' or 'infuriating' to the list."

"That's not terrifying," Galatea pointed out. "That's just geeky."

"True. On the night he set up my computer, I saw him disappear into his work. Have you ever seen Dee get worked up about something? Well, as he was assembling all the boards and wires and junk, he got this, this look, and at first I thought he was acting very quiet and intense—very Bee-like, actually—but then I noticed he wasn't the one getting quiet and intense, not really. It was the air around him, the room, and even the noise from outside. Hell, it was me. I was getting quiet and intense, just watching him make some dumb machine. If he were a girl I would've whacked off thinking about it when he left. No wonder some women at his office follow him around with their tongues hanging out. Galatea, you've never let me talk this long without making a joke or making me cum or something."

"Oh, I'm taking it out on your body, believe me," Galatea hissed, "It just had its fourth consecutive breast orgasm. But keep talking or I'll make you cum so hard you won't be able to sit in a chair for months."

"If more people released their aggression by making other people cum," Ursula observed, "I think the world would be a much better place. Have you ever mindfucked Dee?"

"Nope," Galatea snapped. "Can't."

"Why not?"

"His nanomek won't let me."

"You mean his magic won't let you," Ursula translated.

"Yeah," Galatea said, uncertain. "I guess I do."

"Then, if you ever see Dee work, you'll know what I mean. But that wasn't what scared me. When he was finished, he looked up, looked me straight in the eye and said, 'It is done.' And that's what terrified me. His voice…'It is done'…it was like a pronouncement from God. God, that sounds stupid."

"Not really," Galatea said, her disembodied voice managing to sound meek. "Not to me, anyway."

"I guess it wouldn't. So Dee declares, 'It is done,' and stalks out of the room. Literally stalks, a panther moving to its next kill—maybe to repair a hard drive or something. Whatever he does when he gets worked up."

"He writes," Galatea said, meeker still.

"Dee writes? He never mentions it when I talk about my poetry. "

Galatea's voice was so meek it could inherit the Earth. "He writes porn. On the Internet."

"Oh, Jesus, never mind. I don't want to know. Just let me finish. I never really planned on using the computer. I'd always hated the things. But Dee's performance was so melodramatic that not trying out the computer he made for me at least once would've been like shooting a puppy. So I sat down, started messing around on the Internet, and—bam!—I found SRU in under a minute. With the stuff from SRU, I was finally real witch. 'It is done,' he said, and it was. He did it. Dee made me a witch…and now he's made you, so I was right to be terrified, wasn't I?"

"Yes," Galatea said, sounding stronger, "but Dee didn't make you a witch, at least not in the same sense he made me. And he didn't make me, not exactly. And that's what we need to talk about. Dee and me."

"What about Dee and you?"

"Sooner or later we're going to get in trouble, serious trouble, and we're going to need your help."

* * * *

Galatea glared at Dee's blender and wondered how it would feel to be pureed. "Prob'ly like getting blown apart by house music." She glanced at the kitchenette microwave's digital readout.

9:03 PM.

"God dammit," she said, hefting a half-filled jug of Nyquil onto the countertop. "This is the last of the green stuff."

The front door of Dee's apartment trembled as sheets of green icing sleeted through the cracks on all four sides of the doorframe. Galatea poked her head around the kitchenette's doorway, squinting. "Izzat me?"

The growing ziggurat of icing darkening the front door filled out fuller than Jane Mansfield.

"That's me," Galatea decided, and wobbled into the living room. "About damn time too. You were gone two freakin' hours. I thought we just wanted to scare Ursula. What were you doing all this time?"

"I'm sick and tired of eating pussy," the returning Galatea responded. "How's 'bout we flip a coin, and the loser has to morph into Dee and do whatever the winner wants?'"

* * * *

Last time I saw you
We had just split in two.
You were looking at me,
I was looking at you.
You had a way so familiar,
But I could not recognize,
'Cause you had blood on your face;
I had blood in my eyes.
But I could swear by your expression
That the pain down in your soul
Was the same as the one down in mine.

—Hedwig and the Angry Inch (Mitchell & Trask), Origin of Love