The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“You saved my ship!” Captain James T Kirk said hugging Christina close. " Your the most amazing woman Ive ever met”

“Pardon me” said The Docor wrapping his long scarf around his neck to fight off the cold of Planet X. “but she saved my TARDIS and saved me from an early regeneration and I believe that I should have this dance.”

“no me” said Bill Compton grabbing the ravishing Christina from the Time Lord’s arms. “I just have to dance with the woman who cured my vampirism.”

“No me.”

“Me!”

“Me!!”

Christina Williams hit the DEL key until she got tired of hitting it. Then she just closed Microsoft Word without saving the forty-page document she had just wasted three hours on. In my head, it’s art, she thought. In the word processor, it transforms into crap. She sipped on her cold hot chocolate and considered just letting the Klingons and the Daleks turn Planet X into a pile of rubble, with everyone still on it.

“Why does my story suck so much?” she asked aloud. “What’s wrong with it?”

“What’s wrong is all that Mary Sue crap,” Frieda said, looking over her friend’s shoulder.

Christina blushed an entirely new shade of red and looked up at the tall, skinny, ginger-haired Frieda. “How long have you been there?”

“Since Chapter Six,” Frieda said, putting down her laundry basket. “How did Doctor Who get to be the fourth one? You started out with the Tenth Doctor and Rose.”

“Rose was being a bitch,” Christina said. “Besides, the Doctor was spending too much time looking at her instead of my character.”

“Not your character,” Frieda corrected her, putting her own chocolate back into the microwave and nuking it. “You. That character was you, right down to the first name and the freckles on the bridge of her nose. Very Mary Sue of you.”

Frieda thought for a moment. “I like the sound of that.” She started dancing around the room, singing. “Very Mary Sue of you. Very Mary Sue of you. Very Mary...”

“Who’s Mary Sue?” Christina asked.

“Not who, what,” her roommate corrected her. She stopped dancing.

“OK, I’ll bite: What’s Mary Sue?”

Frieda laughed. “You’ve never heard of a Mary Sue? How long have you been writing stories? A month?”

“Since I was in junior high. Answer the question.”

“A Mary Sue is an idealized version of the writer, put into the story, usually in fan fiction. She’s often witty, intelligent, and beautiful. The male characters fall all over each other trying to be with her. You know, characters like Kirk, the Doctor, and the vampire guy. They all want her, but she’s too good for them. There’s a saying in writing: Beware the Mary Sue. Got it?”

“Yeah, I get it,” Christina growled. “You can do better, I’m sure.”

Frieda shook her head. “I’m a poet. I don’t do fiction unless there’s a gun to my head or a class that I need. But even I know when you’re projecting yourself into the story.”

“So what do you suggest, Mr. Armstrong?”

“Is that who you have for creative writing?” Frieda asked. “Armstrong? Man, he will have your butt in a sling over that Mary Sue crap. He hates it!”

“Well it’s his fault,” Christina huffed. She folded her arms under her ample breasts and glowered. She mocked Armstrong, saying “’Write a fan fiction story combining three characters from three different fictons. And it better be good!’”

“Three? Good? That’s not possible,” Frieda said, pulling her piping-hot chocolate from the microwave. “First of all, fanfic is, by its very definition, crap. There are exceptions to the rule, but not many. Also, the crappiness of your fanfic increases exponentially with each added crossover. Or didn’t you know that?”

“All I know is that I have 24 hours to write something Armstrong likes or I’ll be repeating Creative Writing 101 with Cutter.”

Frieda shuddered. “I’d take Armstrong over Cutter any day. There are freshmen who haved chewed off their own writing hands to avoid Cutter’s class.”

“Well I know you took creative writing under Armstrong last year,” Christina said, “and you survived. Knowing you, you probably aced the class. How did you do it, Miss ‘I Don’t Write Fiction’?”

“First of all,” Frieda said, “I needed a writing class. Secondly, I took that particular class because Armstrong is hella sexy.”

“He’s a god among geek writers,” Christina agreed, “but how did you get a good grade?”

Frieda thought for a moment. “I’m gonna help you out, roomie, but I want you to promise two things.”

“If it involves dating your brother Nick, I’d sooner flunk the class.”

“No,” Frieda said. “Nick can go screw himself for all I care. I’m going to give you a way to pass the class, but you have to promise not to tell a soul and to do exactly as I say.”

“OK. Done. Is this the part where I sign my name in blood?” Christina asked.

“No blood. Hard to fill an ink bottle. Just wait a moment.”

Frieda walked out of the kitchenette and to her room. There was the sound of banging and moving boxes and a loud “Ah-hah!” at the end. The taller girl came back, sweating, and holding a small jewelry box. She handed it to Christina.

“What is it?” the blonde girl asked.

“Open it and see,” Frieda said.

Inside was a beautiful ring, obviously an antique. It was gold—real gold—with the reversed initials “RVS”. Christina held it up, noticing that it seemed very heavy, which she took to mean that there was a lot of gold in it. “Wow, cool. But why are the initials backwards?”

“It’s a signet ring,” Frieda said.

“Signet ring?” Christina asked, confused.

“Used to seal envelopes with wax. Before adhesive gums. The wax was dripped onto the top and bottom flaps of the envelope and the ring was pressed into the hot wax to form a seal and to indicate that the letter was authentically from the person who wore the ring. In this case, my great-great-great-great grandmother, Regina Victoria Silvetti.”

“And this ring is going to help me pass creative writing?”

“There’s a clasp on the side of the ring face,” Frieda said. “Slide it upward with your fingernail.”

Christina did as instructed and the front popped open to reveal a tiny, circular dial with numbers around it, 1 through 12. “What is it? A watch?”

“No, it’s the Silvetti family secret,” Frieda said. She put her right hand on her heart and raised her left hand in a salute. “I swear, Christina, on my oath, that this is how Silvetti women have always kept their men in line.”

Christina looked suspiciously at her roommate. “With a ring?”

“Not just any ring,” Frieda insisted. “What you do is select a number, one through twelve, by turning the dial. Point your fingers at a guy, press hard as you close the ring face, and depending on what number you chose, the guy feels anything for you from like to love.

“Bwa-ha-ha-haaaa!” Christina laughed. “You almost had me going with this shit!”

“I’m serious!” Frieda said, snatching the ring and the box from Christina. “It works.”

“Prove it.”

“I don’t have to prove a thing,” Frieda insisted. “Just look at my boyfriend, Jerry.”

“Jerry the Jock? Touchdown King Jerry? The Guy With The Golden Fly?” Christina asked. “He’s the hottest thing on this campus. I always wondered why he was dating you... I mean... You know. You’re cute and all, but Jerry could have any girl he wants, yet he only looks at you.”

“Grandma Regina comes through,” Frieda said smugly. “Hey, I could get Jerry by myself, but thanks to the ring, I don’t have to worry about what he’s doing when he’s out with the guys.”

“You’re serious about this?” Christina asked.

“On my word. That’s how I got through Armstrong’s class. I hit him with a ‘3’ and he was polishing my apple all semester.”

“That sounds vaguely dirty,” Christina muttered.

“You know what I mean,” Frieda said. “I don’t plan to marry Jerry, so he’s a ‘6’. If I ever meet Mr. Right instead of Mr. Right Now, it’ll be ‘9’ or ‘10’. Never use ‘12’, I’m told.”

Christina still wasn’t convinced. “So why are you sharing this with me instead of having an orgy every weekend?”

“Power corrupts,” Frieda said. “Also ‘Moderation. In all things, moderation.’ I don’t overdo it, and you shouldn’t either. There’s a price for everything, so don’t go overboard. Hit Armstrong with a ‘3’, turn in your crapfest of a fanfic, get an easy ‘A’, and get the ring back into my hands by tomorrow night.”

“Why tomorrow night?”

“Things are going really well with Jerry. I may bump him up to a ‘7’ then.”

Christina couldn’t wait for her creative writing class, and by 11 AM of the next day, she was sitting in the front row with a story she had breezed through the previous night, now resting in her hot little hands. She was grateful that she didn’t have to read it to the class, just turn it in. The story she had dismissed the previous day was better than this one, and she had to admit that it was, in the words of her roommate, a “crapfest”.

She worried about the ring. Would it work? If this was all Frieda’s idea of a joke, the older girl’s last poem would be on her tombstone. Christina would see to that.

Raymond Armstrong walked into the class and a majority of the women present sat up attentively. A few guys did too, but most of the males present had a decidedly cooler attitude toward the man’s physical charms. Christina herself felt a little twinge when she looked at him. Mr. Armstrong was about 30, with feathered sandy hair, a ruggedly handsome face, and a physique that his sports jackets and dress pants couldn’t hide. He had animal magnetism in spades and a lot of his female students spent as much time looking as they did listening to his rich, masculine voice.

Christina ran her fingernail across the ring’s clasp and turned the dial to ‘3’. Wait a minute, she thought. If three is good, four should be just a little better, right? It’s not like it’s six, like Frieda did to Jerry. She moved the dial up a notch to four, pointed her hand like a superhero shooting a ray beam out of his fingers, and gently closed the clasp. Nothing. Of course, she really didn’t know what to expect, but she thought there would be some sort of response.

Oh yeah! she thought. Frieda said to press down hard on the ring while I point. She did and heard a small, almost imperceptable “ding” and a light tap on her ring finger, just underneath the signet. Armstrong, who hadn’t said a word yet, looked up and blinked. He took his glasses off and pinched his nose. He shook his head, then put the glasses back on and went back to what he was reading.

Christina’s heart almost jumped up her throat. Yes! Something had definitely happened, just as the sound came from the ring and the thump went through her finger. She sat back, relieved. She was confident now that she would get a good grade for her story, Mary Sue and all!

Armstrong spent the class time rounding up the projects and reading through a few of them while sitting silently at his desk. The class, meanwhile, watched a DVD interview with Gore Vidal talking about character development. When the hour ended, Armstrong said. “Thank you everyone. We’ll discuss your stories on Thursday. Hopefully by then, some of you will have suprised me by spelling and punctuating a whole sentence correctly. Miss Wong and Miss Williams, please stay behind for a moment.”

Janet Wong was the best writer in the class and everyone knew it. Christina swallowed hard. Whenever Armstrong called for Janet and someone else to stay behind, that usually meant that he was choosing to comment on the best story he’d read so far and the worst. She was really beginning to regret not putting much effort into it.

“Janet, what can I say?” he said to the tall Asian woman. “Wonderful, as always.”

Janet smiled. She was definitely one of the girls smitten with Raymond Armstrong. “Thank you, sir.” She beamed brightly and walked out of the room.

“Miss Williams,” he said, picking up her story and looking at it. “Where to begin? What happened?”

“My, uh, my kid brother ate my homework?” she said feebly.

Armstrong chuckled. “No, I mean you’re much improved.”

“Really?”

“Yes,” he said, leaning back in his chair and looking at her. “I’m impressed. Whatever you’re doing, keep it up!”

“Um, wow. Thank you, sir.” Christina gathered up her books and headed toward the door.

She didn’t even get there before she heard “Christina?”

She turned around and looked at Raymond Armstrong, who was eying her up and down appreciatively. “When’s your next class?”

“Not until 3:30,” she said. “Why?”

“Would you like to grab a bite to eat? My treat.”

Christina smiled. She looked down at the ring, then back up at Armstrong. “Sure. I... I’d like that, Mr. Armstrong.”

“Call me Ray.”

It was just a sandwich at the local Subway, but Christina felt like the prom queen walking on the arm of the handsome Ray Armstrong. Every woman in the place stopped and stared as they walked through the door. They ordered and sat down with their meals.

“So what’s your goal in life, Christina?” Ray asked. “What’s your major?”

“I want to be a screenwriter,” she said, biting into her sandwich.

“Well, keep turning in work like that last story,” he said, winking, “and you’ll get that chance.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Ray rolled his eyes. “Sir? That sounds so old. I told you to call me Ray.”

“Thank you, Ray,” she said, smiling. He smiled back and she felt a rush as he raised his hand and gently held her own. She could feel his foot smoothly run up her leg a few inches. Was he coming on to her? Oh, my! She blushed.

“So what do you do with your free time?” he asked.

“Um, well, I write, of course. I jog. I love movies...”

“Would you like to see one?” he asked. “With me? Tonight?”

She glanced at him. He was still running his foot up and down her leg and smiling a thousand-watt smile at her. Christina felt a little moistness between her legs. “Well... yeah, sure! Sounds like fun.”

“It’s a date,” he said.

She blinked. Is it?

The movie was fun. The nightcap in Mr. Armstrong’s apartment was even better. Best of all was listening to him snore softly as Christina lied beside him in his bed. Damn! He should have been a gigolo. Where’d he learn to do that thing with his tongue? She’d never had an older man before and now she was definitely considering their appeal.

A more than passing grade and laid like an egg, all in the same day. This was diary-worthy stuff and if she kept one, she would definitely be writing it out in her head now. She sighed, feeling satiated, happy, and in a small way, fulfilled. The clock told her that it was 3 AM and she wondered if she should get back to her apartment. She had an early class.

She looked at the ring and played with it. She wondered how it did it. How did it make men fall for a woman? Was it magic or some steampunk/Victorian era invention? She turned the dial and looked at the sleeping man beside her. What if she took it to a six, like Frieda and Jerry? Dare she? She moved it up a couple of notches. Or eight? She imagined that he’d be introducing her to his parents. Ten? Happily ever after. Two more notches up. Twelve? Why weren’t you supposed to use twelve? What would happen? What was stronger than happily ever after?

Ray moaned and rolled over. He raised his head and looked at her. “Hello, sexy,” he said softly. He grinned that boyish grin of his.

Christina had been so engrossed in the ring that she hadn’t even noticed that he had awoken. She gasped and closed the ring quickly, making sure not to press too hard. “Oh, you startled me, Ray!”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Look, it’s been fun and all and I really want to see you again, but I have someone coming over early in the morning and I need to get some rest. If you stay, I won’t want you to go.”

“Oh?” she asked, smiling. She slid closer to him and snuggled. “That’s so sweet! Who’s coming over? Your mom?”

He grinned. “My fiancee.”

Christina shot up in bed like she had just been stung by a bee. “Your what!?!“

“Oh, don’t worry,” he said. “I haven’t lost my head. What we did was fun and I’d like to do it again, real soon, but I do love Marie and we’re getting married.”

“Well that’s just peachy-keen,” she snapped, standing up. She started rounding up her clothes. “Ray, why didn’t you tell me you were engaged?”

“You might not have come to bed with me,” he laughed.

“Damn straight!” she barked, slipping on her dress. “I don’t play in another woman’s backyard. Shit!” She imagined all of the bad karma coming her way as she grabbed her shoes and sat on the edge of the bed to slip them on.

“Hey,” Ray said, trying to wrap an arm around her waist. “This was my choice, not yours.” She pushed him away.

“Have you ever cheated on her before?” she asked as she picked her purse off of the floor.

“Never.”

“Well now’s not the time to start,” Christina snapped, standing up.

Ray grabbed her hand and squeezed it tightly, making her fingers hurt. “Call me,” he said.

Christina heard a muffled little noise but couldn’t place it. “We’ll discuss this later,” she said. She jerked her hand free and stormed out of his apartment.

Ray pinched his nose and shook his head.

When she got home, Christina found a note on her bedroom door.

Chris,

Jerry took me to the mountains for a surprise extended weekend. Sorry I missed you. Please put my ring in the box on my desk and have a fun weekend. (I know I will!)

Lucky Frieda

Christina looked at the ring. The damned ring! Was it responsible? She didn’t know, but she had to wash the taste of skanky fiance out of her mouth. She decided to take the ring for another test-drive.

Christina skipped classes that Friday, but she got dressed early for the evening and was at the local pub by 6 PM for the early bird special. In the bar, Christina tried the number two setting on a couple of guys. They were friendly enough, but not really buying her drinks, so she notched one of the guys up to three and found him much more interested in her. After a few stiff drinks they were really hitting it off. Christina was still thinking about Ray Armstrong, which wouldn’t do at all, so she had a couple more drinks and decided to turn her new friend into a four. Same as Ray.

By 11 PM, they were in his bed, fucking like rabbits. Rich (his name was Rich) didn’t have a fiancee or a girlfriend, or even a sister, from what she learned, so she was more than happy for a little male attention with no strings attached. He rimmed her ass and sucked her tits and generally did what made her happy. As he slept, she turned him down to a two. By the morning, she left the slumbering Rich without so much as a goodbye and made it home by noon. She pulled the ring off and left it on the coffee table, then went to her bedroom to sleep.

She awoke slowly to the sounds of a video game playing from somewhere outside her room. She threw on last night’s clothes and wandered into the living room, where Frieda’s brother Nick was blasting away at some zombies on the Wii, three empty beer cans on the coffee table before him.

“Yeah!” he hollered. “Yeah! Take that, you zombie scum! Yeah!”

Christina blearily walked over to the game console and calmly unplugged it.

“Hey!” the bone-thin Nick snapped. “Whadja fuckin’ do that for, Chris?”

“Nick,” she mumbled, only half awake, “why are you in my living room playing my Wii and drinking my beer when last I heard, you had your own living room, your own Wii, and enough beer to croak a frat house?”

“A. The elecricity’s out again at my place because the electric company can’t wait two meager months, B. Because of point A, my Wii doesn’t work, and 3. Also because of point A, warm beer sucks.”

“Your sister’s out of town for the weekend,” Christina sighed. “So I’ll have to kill you and hide your body by myself.”

“Why don’t you like me, Christina?” he asked her.

“I like you fine, Nick.”

“But not enough to date me.”

Christina looked over the scrawny boy her age and sighed. “Nick, you’re just not my type. Let’s leave it at that, OK?”

“Well, what is your type?” he insisted, trying to stand up as straight as his sunken chest would allow.

“Not you, Nick, that’s for sure,” she said. She had tried to let him down gently, but she could see that wasn’t going to work. “You wear nothing but black t-shirts. You dropped out of high school. You have no ambition beyond getting the highest score on the latest game. You’re high or drunk half of the time. You haven’t shaved in a month, but Satan still won’t let you grow a real beard. You treat women like shit and your idea of personal hygene is to make sure you’re in the rain when it happens, which isn’t often in southern California.”

The word ring popped into her head unbidden and she looked at where she’d left it on the coffee table, but it wasn’t there. It was sitting proudly on Nick’s middle finger.

“Take that off!” Christina hollered suddenly. “That doesn’t belong to you!”

Nick looked at the ring. “No, it belongs to my sister. I’ve seen it before. And I’ll hold it for her until she returns.”

“She left it in my care, Nick,” she flared. “It’s my responsibility, so give it here.”

Nick wiggled his middle finger in an obscene gesture at the blonde. “Come get it, Chris... ”

Christina lept forward and tried to grab the ring from him. Nick pulled away and easily kept it out of the reach of the young woman. He laughed as she tried to pull his arm down so that she could get the signet, but he was stronger than she was.

Suddenly from their struggling, the ring flew across the room and hit the far wall hard.

“You fucking ass!” Christina yelled. “If that ring is broken, I’ll have to stand in line behind your sister to kill you!”

“Hey, it wasn’t my fault,” Nick said.

Christina ran to the ring and put it on. She looked at it, noting that it looked just fine. She heard the soft “ding”. She hadn’t pressed the face. Thank God she wasn’t pointing at anyone! She looked up at Nick and glowered at him. Ding. “The mechanism is broken, you dipshit,” she thundered. “Wait til Frieda finds out!”

Nick turned a little pale. “Don’t tell her, Chris. Come on! I was just horsing around.”

Christina pointed a finger at Nick. “Get out of my place, Nick!”

Ding.

Nick suddenly rubbed between his eyes and shook his head. He looked at her, like he saw her but really didn’t recognize her. “Sure, Chris. Anything you say.” He immediately stood up and walked out the front door, leaving it open as he wandered down the sidewalk, staggering just a bit.

Christina tried to take the ring off, to no avail. It was as if the band had constricted around her finger. Every couple of minutes or so, it let out a soft ding. Oh, shit! she thought. I am so screwed!

She tried soaping it, cold cream, cooking oil, nothing really helped. After awhile she became less aware of the chime, but she knew it was still there, like a song stuck in your head that you couldn’t get rid of. She tried calling Frieda but her phone went straight to voicemail. After a few times, she eventually left a calm message just asking Frieda to call her when she could.

She eventually went out to eat. A nearby hot dog stand provided the necessary nutrition from the all-important junk-food group. Every so often, she’d hear the ding. Sometimes people near her froze (whether she pointed at them or not), shook their heads and went about their business. Other times, no one seemed affected.

She drown her sorrows that night at another bar. She found that men seemed a lot more attracted to her than usual and were always buying her drinks, even from across the bar. The bartender started buying them for her too at some point. The drinks were lined up and she politely drank one at a time and spent a few minutes with each benefactor, who politely left when she told them to. Consequently, she drank a bit too much and forgot that she was having this trouble with the ring. She just drank and enjoyed the flirting. She eventually met a decidedly hot man from among her admirers and he took her home where they balled all night.

By the time she woke up, he was unconscious and she was hung over. She managed to make her way home and spent Sunday nursing her poor head, the ding a constant companion. Monday morning she awoke and found that the ring was now loose enough to remove. She sighed a sigh of relief and stuck the ring back into the box that Frieda had indicated. She left a note telling Frieda to contact her after classes and to not touch the ring until she had.

As Christina was locking the front door, Nick came out of nowhere, startling her. “Hiya, Christina.”

She looked at him, then blinked and looked again. “Nick?”

He was clean-shaven. His hair was cut much shorter and styled. He was wearing dress pants (did he even own dress pants?), a white dress shirt, and a tie.

“Wow,” she said. “Look at you!”

Nick shrugged. “I was on my way to a job interview and thought I’d pop in and say ‘Hi.’ So hi.”

“Hi,” she said, smiling. “I’m running a little late. Did you want to go inside and have a cup of coffee before your appointment? I’ve got to book though.”

“Nah. I’m on a ‘no caffeine’ kick at the moment. But I’ll talk to you later. Bye!” He waved and walked off, heading down the street towards the shops.

Christina shook her head in amazement, then got into her small Nissan and drove to class.

The day passed quickly and Christina found herself at home by 5 PM. Still no sign of Frieda, so she had dinner, did some homework, and went to bed.

Tuesday was creative writing day and she considered not going. She hadn’t talked to Ray Armstrong since Thursday night and she was sure she’d be pissed just looking at him. She was sure that he’d be pissed too. A woman scorned, she had always felt, had nothing on a man scorned. Still, in the end, she went.

Armstrong walked into the crowded classroom precisely at 11 AM. He immediately addressed the class.

“I haved looked at all of your projects, and I just want you all to know that I’ve since been on powerful antdepressants and I’m feeling much better today.” There was polite laughter in the class, and after a few seconds, he continued.

“I have re-evaluated my assesments on some of the earlier stories I read on Thursday and I wanted to address those.”

Oh, shit, Christina thought. He’s pissed and I’m going to be taking this class over with Mr. Cutter. She looked at her writing hand and considered gnawing it off.

“Miss Wong, please stand,” Armstrong said.

She stood up and beamed. “Yes, Mr. Armstrong?”

He held up her paper. “Complete and utter dreck.”

She looked at him in disbelief. “What?!”

“Trash,” he insisted. “I’ve seen better and more intelligent writing in Fun With Dick and Jane, which your story cribbed heavily from, by the way. I want you to rewrite it, and this time try to get it right.”

Janet was completely crestfallen. She bowed her head as if in shame. “Y-yes sir.” She sat down, teary-eyed.

“The rest of you,” Armstrong said. “Dreck, dreck, and more dreck.” He pushed the pile of papers into his waste basket and slapped his hands as if to clean them. “You’ll all rewrite them.”

Christina sunk into her chair. If he thought that poorly of Janet Wong’s story, she was sure, based on their incident on Thursday, that he’d reserved a special place in Review Hell just for her.

“Now we come to Miss Williams,” he said. Christina screwed her eyes shut and considered the convent lifestyle. She prayed that he’d lose his voice right now.

“Beautiful,” Armstrong said, and Christina opened one eye in surprise. “Superlative. A masterpiece. In fact, I have sent a copy to my own publisher and insisted that they publish it or I am removing myself from their list of clients.”

Christina looked at him in shock. For a fanfic?!

“Now listen closely, all of you,” Armstrong said, pulling out his reading glasses, “and see how it’s done.

It was a dark and stormy night... ”

“... said Jim Kirk. “And I shall always love a woman named Christina. The End.”

Somewhere, halfway through the drivel, the shock in the classroom had given way to titters of merriment. Soon it was outright laughter. Near the end, the hour was over and those with immediately following classes got up and left. In fact, most of the class had already left by the halfway mark. When Armstrong finished reading the story with all the pomp and circumstance befitting “War and Peace”, only Christina and two other students were left, including the shell-shocked Janet Wong.

“You may all go,” Armstrong said, dismissively. “Not you, Miss Williams.”

She walked down to his desk and stood before it, in total shock. “Ray, what the hell was that?”

“Your story,” he said simply. “And it’s beautiful and poignant and quite simply, the best thing I’ve ever read in my life. You have opened my eyes, Christina, and I am indebted to you.” He was serious!

“Ray,” she said slowly, “it took you longer to read it than it took me to write it. It was more shit than a political speech. It was full of grammatical errors, lapses in logic, and even I didn’t realize that I had three different versions of Star Trek in it. You can blame that on being wired on caffeine in order to finish it, but even so, it was the worst thing I’ve ever written—or heard read—in my life.”

“Really? I thought it flowed very smoothly.”

He smiled at her, the most honest, sincere smile that she’d ever seen in her life. “You are magnificent. Do you know that? My life was empty and meaningless until you came into it.” Then, “I broke my engagement to Marie.”

“You did what!?“

“Oh, she cried and threatened and begged, but she’s not for me. I see that now. She’s a child, and I need a woman. A real woman. The most exciting woman I’ve ever met in my life.” He grabbed her suddenly and wrapped his arms around her. “Marry me, Christina!”

She beat at his strong arms. “No! Get away from me, you doofus! What’s wrong with you?” Christina ran out of the classroom, half in shock, half in tears.

She made her way home to find Nick Silvetti waiting at her doorstep. Oh, god! Just what I need! “Nick, why didn’t you let yourself in? You have a key.”

“It didn’t seem right,” he said. He kissed her hand. “I just had to see the woman who turned my sorry life around.”

“What?”

“I got the job,” he said. “It’s just a stockroom job, but it’s a start. Who knows where it can go? Salesman? Manager? CEO? The sky’s the limit! We can get married... ”

“Married?”

“Sure,” Nick said, hugging her. “I want you there every step of the way, Christina. I love you!”

Christina fumbled for her keys. “Nick, how can you love me? The longest time we spent together was playing a video game, and that lasted just long enough for my avatar to become a greasy slick on the streets of Gotham City.”

“Love knows no time,” he said.

“God,” she snapped, opening the door. “Who wrote that line?”

She slammed it on him and locked it.

“Hey,” said Frieda, who was sitting on the couch. “What’s going on, roomie?”

“Frieda! Oh, thank god!” Christina ran to her, desperation in her voice. “The ring! Frieda, you’ve gotta help me! We have to destroy the ring!”

Frieda looked at her blankly. “What ring?”

“What ring? The fucking ring you loaned me.” Frieda cocked her head in confusion. “Grandma Regina? One through twelve? Jerry’s a six?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Christina.”

“You don’t?”

“No, but I’m glad you’re here,” Frieda said. “I’m getting married to Jerry!”

“What? Why?”

“I owe it all to you,” Frieda said. “You’re so wise and beautiful and wonderful! You’ve always been there for me.” She hugged Christina. “What a friend!”

Realization began to dawn on Christina. She was the Mary Sue now. She was amazing and perfect in the eyes of everyone she knew. But inside she was still the same Christina she had always been: sweet and caring and honest, but also petty and selfish and rude... just like everyone else on Planet Earth. But it wasn’t Planet Earth anymore. It was her own world; her own story. The Story of Christina. And it all revolved around her.

The writer looked at what she had written. What poppycock! She deleted every page and she started again...