She has a penchant for second-hand items and most of her apartment is furnished with very old or used objects, such as the Victorian table lamps and bright pink naugahide couch in her living room. Of course, with her flair for decorating, these items actually fit in very well with the scheme of things. Most of her kitchen appliances and utensils date to another era and Emma's clothing, too, is mixed with the new and the old, mostly the old. "So easy to get that retro look," says Emma. And yes, obviously, she wouldn't even think of driving anything but a previously owned vehicle.
Emma eccentric? Just because she fancies used over new? Emma exclaims, "Oh, the colors add such flavor to any current trend, and imagine the lives of the owners before me!"
Emma eccentric? Just because she lives a little audaciously and talks to herself? Emma proudly dismisses it with, "I love life and life loves me!"
Emma does like to speculate and reflect on the past, but she enjoys purchasing pieces from the past much more and today will be one of those shopping days. It is a beautiful spring morning in the last week of April. Most of the trees' red buds have begun to open into fresh little green leaves and pretty fragrant blossoms of whites and pinks. Waking up to this beautiful day, Emma also feels beautiful. It is that kind of day when one feels and looks sexy and charming. Emma declares, "It is a good hair day." Thusly, she is in the mood to play, so she hops into her vintage '66 turquoise Mustang and flies off to browse the local flea markets.
The first stop isn't very productive. Emma finds only a beautiful long silk scarf. It makes her feel like Isadora Duncan, so she buys it and remarks with a wink, "My Mustang is not a convertible." However, as she pulls into the parking lot of the second flea market, Emma smells sweet success blowing her way.
She meanders through the crowd and comes upon a used cd display. One subject heading catches her attention immediately. Untitled/No Artist. What? How can a cd have no artist? No title, maybe, but no artist? Of course, Emma has to take a closer look. There must be something written on the jewel cases. She flips back the divider and sees only one cd. Only one cd? Emma scoffs, "No wonder, most artists want credit for their creations." She picks up the cd and sees symbols and shapes and colors, but no writing, not a single word. Not even a producer or copyright date. Well, the cd must have a label.
Emma opens the jewel case. The frosted silver colored disc is plain. No writing, no symbols even. But the colors! The reflection of sunlight gushes a wide array of colors over Emma. Like the force of a waterfall, reds, yellows, blues and all shades in between from pink to lime to aqua, cascade over her from head to toe and overwhelm her with all the emotions connected to each one.
Emma's body becomes numb as she feels her spirit, her inner core, slowly rise and separate from her physical frame. Her surroundings steadily grow dim and remote in both sight and sound, until eventually there is no interference at all. She floats in a colorful suspension of reality, without a single thought or care of her own. It is a state of submission, a feeling of total surrender that Emma has never before experienced.
The cd and case slowly fall to the ground as a distant Emma gradually returns to earth and stares blankly for a moment. She hears the merchant's voice faintly in the background, then more clearly as she comes to reason again. He repeats, "Excuse me, Miss, you dropped this."
Emma reaches for the cd and when her thumb falls directly over a fingerprint on the case, she experiences another exchange. A dark gray cloud surrounds her as she senses an ominous awareness. She hears piano music and boisterous laughter. She smells burning tobacco and liquor and beer. Suddenly she finds herself in an old western saloon as one of the live-in "entertainers" and sitting in a cloud of smoke atop the lap of a poker player. She is wearing nothing but her under garments, which Emma finds to be very appealing and definitely retrospective of the era.
Just as her thought begins to turn from "where am I" to "how did I arrive here," a slew of gunshots are fired and a moment later she is grabbed by the arm and pulled between the swinging saloon doors as a hostage! His grasp...his hand...his fingertips...they all feel so familiar.
She hears her captor fire more shots as he flings her across his saddle and jumps on behind her. Digging his spurs into the hindquarters of his mount causes him to thrust Emma forward into the saddle horn, creating a tad bit more pleasure than pain for her. Emma fearfully manages to grin and comment, "Mmmm, I could like this."
However, when the rider begins to whip his horse with the reins to encourage more speed, Emma catches the tip of each lash on her shins and thighs. Back and forth he thrashes the reins over the horse's shoulders and every flog meant for the beast is also felt by her, sometimes cutting the delicate lace and thin cotton of her pretty 19th century lingerie. The little bullets of pain shoot a tingling sensation throughout her body.
Neither rider has spoken a word until he is sure he has eluded his pursuers. They ride into the mountains to a cave where he calmly apologizes for his next action, but explains why it is necessary. Emma's heart races as she feels her hands being bound together and tied above her head to a post behind her. Then her feet are bound together as she slides into a sitting position. He tenderly kisses the welts on her legs and casts a smirk up at her as he tugs the last knot tighter.
Emma doesn't really fear her captor or her captivity. She submits to his restraint and begins to calm herself and prepare for what lies ahead.
"Cut...That's a wrap...Take five." That is what Emma hears, for the fingerprint of the actor has taken her to a Hollywood filming. But what is really being said is coming from the cd merchant, "...cut. I said would you like to hear a cut from this cd?"
Emma nods her head disappointedly. She was all prepared to accept what would have happened next to her in the cave, or what she hoped would have happened. "Oh well," she muses, "Just another silly fantasy." She retrieves the cd and again her finger superimposes another fingerprint.
Another exchange occurs and Emma stares pensively at the cd. She rotates it a little to examine the flip side. Unlike the frosted topside, this one is glossy and reflects a sharper, more piercing rainbow. Emma reflexively stiffens as a deluge of colors pounds over her. She slowly inhales so deeply her nostrils collapse slightly. Then she relaxes and slumps forward a little, slowly exhaling as the rush of colors immerses her. The jewel case slides to the ground once more.
Emma is whooshed away in a torrent of colorful rapids and flounders into the room of a college dormitory. The image of a coed, to whom the last fingerprint belongs, emits a pale yellow aura highlighted with cool blue. Emma detects her shyness, her uncertainty, and her loneliness. She needs companionship, love. That's it! This young girl has not yet felt physical love; she has probably never had a sexual climax. She is too afraid of feeling the freedom; afraid of being a girl and enjoying everything that comes with it.
Emma asks her roommate if she is going to the fraternity party tonight. She pauses for a moment, and then questions, "My roommate? What fraternity party? Am I in a dorm room?"
Her roommate sullenly explains that she has desires to go, but can't. She simply does not know how to act around boys. She has shied away from all activities in high school and has no idea how to loosen up and take pleasure in such things.
Emma, empathetic to her frustrations, is compelled to help her. Emma reaches and pulls her closer to her. First she compassionately comforts this timid teen in a warm embrace and encourages her to be receptive to the spontaneity of the evening. She repeatedly tells her that she does not have to act in any certain way. If she can just let her hair down and not worry about what others think she would be able to feel her own needs and respond to them. And once that happens, everything else would come naturally.
Emma brings her lips to the troubled face with a gentle kiss here and a tender kiss there. Then she lingers a moment with a longer sweet kiss on her lips. The girl doesn't pull back. She doesn't really respond either, except for a soft whimper, almost a moan. Emma continues and slowly brings a nervous hand up to her breast while at the same time nudges her head to her chest. The unsure girl does respond this time. She nuzzles her face deeper to soak in the comfort and whispers, "I am not like this. I have never done this before."
Emma would preposterously reply, "I have not done this before either. None of this, believe me! But I have been cast here unexplainably and have become your roommate and, now, your mentor!"
But instead, Emma consolingly and willingly offers, "It is ok. You need to find yourself sexually. Just let yourself go and feel what you are about to experience."
Emma caresses the acquiescent novice and massages her shoulders and arms lightly as she talks to her about how good it feels to be wanted; how good it feels to be touched. She nuzzles a little deeper into Emma's breast. The comfort, the security, and the warmth keep her there. She does like the feelings and on her own she begins to explore. Her hand reaches up under Emma's sweater and into her bra. She brushes her nipple and gives a little squeeze. Again, these fingertips feel familiar to Emma!
It is comforting and secure for the girl. Another kiss on the lips and then her mouth roots for the hard nipple. Suckling like a baby, her contentment soon turns to arousal. She becomes more ardent and sucks with more fervor. Emma finds herself quite aroused also! Emma claims, "Inconceivable!"
But in reality it is a fact. Unable to turn back herself, Emma encourages the advances of her new acquaintance and continues to guide her to fulfillment.
Emma reaches for the virgin vee and begins to lightly rub and apply light pressure. Again, she shows slight resistance as she pulls away from the breast, but Emma reassuringly tells her, "It doesn't matter from where the feelings are generated, just allow yourself to feel. You need to discover what you are capable of achieving. Here, take your hand and explore. I will help you."
With both of their hands inside her panties, Emma expertly guides her to a world never before visited. She plays and strokes and pulls and teaches her where the right spots are located. Emma reinforces that it is the release that she wants and the means is unimportant. "I am only here to show you."
Within minutes, the coed begins to breathe harder and moan. Emma tells her she is ready and to keep stroking that little rosebud. And Emma is right...it doesn't matter who gives her the climax, she wants nothing else at that moment but to feel the explosion. Finally, she knows what she has been missing. Finally, she knows what she has been needing.
Emma is feeling quite pleased with herself and rather aroused too; first, from the "brutal" excitement of the last adventure and now from this initial experience with sex of this nature. She moves her hand to her own moist region, makes note of the slippery wetness, and begins to relax into an orgasm of her own. Emma justifies, "It is only fitting," but unfortunately she is rattled to reality with the words, "...slippery, huh? Slippery cd, isn't it? You keep dropping it! Uh, excuse me. Are you all right? I said slippery, isn't it?"
This time Emma struggles to gain composure. She blurts, "Gee, can't a girl have some privacy!?" Then she quickly smiles and clears her throat as he continues, "I see you dropped the case. Here you go."
Emma practically grabs the cd from this man as if she were proclaiming, "It's mine! I had it first!" And of course, two of her fingers lay over two more fingerprints of yet a different person.
Again the cascade of colors floods her and demands total conformity. A whirlpool spins Emma down a spiral of unconsciousness into surroundings as unfamiliar as a surrealistic creation. She awakens in a red fiery mist, takes a quick survey of her surroundings, and thinks just that. Emma sighs, "Oh great, I am in a Dali painting."
A globe of the earth suspended in mid air is weeping tears of naked humans, which fall and melt into a glob of flesh and bones onto the floor. Men with many eyes and women with Medusa-like hair are lounging on couches made of giant crickets. Emma gasps with disbelief, but with total compliance, to the possible realization that no, maybe it is not a Dali painting. Perhaps it is an opium den and she has been sucking on the pipe for too long already?
There are also several creatures resembling a leopard, or maybe a hyena. Yes, they are more like the spotted hyena, because they make that hideous sound. But upon closer examination the dominant characteristics are those of human males and very handsome masculine males they are. They circle and approach Emma slowly and warily. They are not afraid of her, merely waiting for her indication to proceed.
Emma notices that with each movement she makes, they retreat. When she calms, they advance. Closer...closer still. As the males continue their approach seeking direction from her, Emma concludes that she is the dominant figure, much like the female hyena is in the clan. Emma's attention focuses on her own image. She, too, is a beautiful hyena-woman with spotted fur and minor hyena features, except for one very major difference.
She is alerted by a growing sensation and realizes that she has a female hyena's genitals that look just like a male's! She can erect her huge clitoris at will and she even has a sack that looks like testicles!
Normally one would panic at such a stark realization, but her opiate state subdues any reaction. Emma drowsily murmurs, "Oh, this *will* be a trip indeed."
She allows these hyena-men to approach her. First one, then another. They begin a greeting ceremony of sniffing and licking each other's genitals. Then another joins the ceremony with sniffs and licks. Then another, and another. There must be six, seven, or more vying for Emma's attention.
They erect their own penises and clitoris voluntarily, while the sniffing and licking continue to the point that Emma no longer aggressively participates. She willingly lies back and allows all the males to pleasure her with their tongues and their penises and their barks and their nips. And sure enough, Emma wonders, "Why do their touches feel so familiar?"
Never before has she experienced such ecstasy. What artist could create this? Emma has no idea that the fingerprints have taken her to such realms as she has visited today.
Nearing orgasm, Emma is kept reeling in the rapture of the tingling and building that comes immediately before the grand explosion. She becomes intoxicated with carnal delight as her sexual appetite nears repletion.
She begins to moan and beg. She hears, "Do you want it? Do you want it? Tell me, do you want it?"
"Yes." She tries to voice it louder, "Yes, yes." Then she shouts, "Yes, I want it!" And Emma convulses and shakes and climaxes right back to consciousness and into the reality of the flea market.
And yes, again, the merchant is handing the cd back to her and asking, "Do you want it? Do you want to buy the cd? You know music is like a book. You can travel anywhere with a song."
Emma, wild-eyed and panting, reaches out to snatch the cd, but quickly recoils. Grinning, she replies, "Yes, I want it. But, um, could you put that in a bag for me please?"