A Thoughtful Companion         
By Dreamspinner and B. Dancer



Lately, my life lacks zip. Nothing seems to look good, taste good, smell good,
or feel good. My friends tell me I'm depressed and even though I say I'm not,
I know they're right. So, here I sit in my old bathrobe, having had too much
wine, doing GOOGLE searches for bizarre personal ads, and like always when I
do this, I think about all the girls I've known. One lean but muscley girl I
saw earlier comes to mind. I saw her on one of my favorite places, when I was
looking for something to get me going. It occurs to me that my cruise of
personal ads is a hunt for her in particular. I'm crazy desperate and I know
it, thinking I'll be able to connect with her this totally random way.

I have another slug of wine and click on 'more' and 'more' and 'more' results.
At the end of the known personal ad universe, I see a link for a site called
Thoughtful Companions. I click on it and my screen goes black. I hit
Enter/Enter/Enter and nothing happens, then Control/Alt/Delete and nothing
happens. I do it again and still nothing. I hear the fan running and my hard
drive grinding away, but nothing's happening. My screen's still black and I
lean over to turn off my machine manually and a voice says, "There's nothing
wrong with your computer."

I sit up and on screen I see the girl I was thinking about a few moments ago,
wearing the same lavender and purple-striped V-top, bikini bottoms with
matching lavender and purple-striped waistband she had on in today's girl
muscle posting. And she's wearing the same adorable shoes, too. They're black
and they go great with her top. I remember thinking how cute they were when I
saw them earlier and how much I want a pair.

Then I realize an image on my screen just talked to me personally. I'm scared,
and thinking I'm so depressed I might be hallucinating, I lean over to turn my
machine off and she says, "Wait! Don't turn me off. Talk to me," and I lean
back up and wait. "Am I not the one you were looking for?" she asks, and she
steps up real close so all I can see is her face.

In fact, the moment I saw the link for Thoughtful Companions, I was thinking
of her exactly and especially about how cute I thought the little mole on the
edge of her left nostril was when I zoomed in on her face in one of her
pictures I'd downloaded. Her image, now on screen, has that little mole, too,
and I wonder if she's real. I wonder if I'm real and I feel my pulse begin to
drum.

"You're not hallucinating," she says. "I'm Catherine, from earlier this
evening. But you knew that," she says. "Didn't you?"

I nod. Curiosity sweeps my anxiety to the side and I study her face. My eyes
settle on her little mole.

"Do you think I should have than taken off? I went to a dermatologist about
it, and she talked me into leaving it alone. She said she thought it was
cute."

That's what I would have said, too, I think.

"Really?"

I nod.

"OK, then," she says. "I'll leave it as is for now."

"You liked looking at my muscles on today's posting," she says. She steps back
and bends her right elbow. She's very lean but when her muscle contracts, it
makes two hard knots. Since she's so lean, there's a groove between the two
heads. "Pretty good for a skinny girl, huh?"

I nod. I wish she'd caress it, and the moment the thought is in my mind,
Catherine brings her other hand up, cups it over her biceps and gives it a
palm squeeze like she's in love with it, which makes blood flow to my secret
places.

"I knew you'd like seeing me do that," she says. "What else shall I do?"

I remember thinking she had legs to die for when I saw her gallery. Before I
can ask her to show me, she takes another step back and tenses up her legs,
making the muscles from her knees to the hem of her short shorts stand out
like cables. Without me having to say a word, she rubs her hands up and down
her thighs, stopping every few inches to squeeze. I can see that even though
she really bears down she can't make a dent.

Now I'm really hot. I open my robe, pull my panties off and start in. My clit
has already pushed its way up and when I part my lips, the air hits the head
of it. I shiver.

"Which do you like best?" she asks. "My legs?" She makes her quads ripple. "Or
my calves?" she asks, and turns around and goes up and down and up and down.
By this time, I'm hammering away. I want to see her arms again.

Catherine spins around and bends both elbows. Her biceps pop up. She
straightens her elbows and bends them again, slowly. Seeing the rise of her
muscles the second time around pushes me to the edge and I hang there like I
sometimes do.

With her biceps still flexed, she asks, "What would get you over? I'll do
anything you wish."

I wish she would her feel her biceps again and I wish she would get turned on
doing it, and as I wish those things, she brings her left hand up and begins
to fondle her hard right biceps, letting her fingers play over the roundness
of it, tracing the groove between the two heads of it, squeezing it, making fu
fu faces like she's marveling at its hardness. I wish she'd let her elbow
straighten, then bend it and then feel her muscle balling up. She does, and
then again, and again, then again and the third time her muscle knots up I'm
off, gasping and crying out and wishing I could be right next to her.

When I get my breath, she comes up close so all I can see is her face. "Let me
help get you off again, and then I'll cross over all the way," she says. "Make
a fork and push down so your clit stands up at attention. You know, like you
like to do," she says.

Catherine sticks her arm out of the screen. I take her hand. To my surprise,
it's warm. I pull it down to my pussy. She knows what I want, which is for her
to first make me nearly insane with frustration, tracing little dog circles on
my brave little soldier's head. After a few turns I get dry, so she pulls her
arm back through and puts a little spit on her finger and reaches back through
again and pushes around a little harder.

I'm stuck on the edge for some reason, but I know if I could just her feel her
muscle I'd get off. Without me having to open my mouth, she sticks her other
arm through the screen, flexes her elbow, and positions her split bulge right
where I can get to it with my free hand. With Catherine beating me off and me
feeling the groove in her hard muscle, I'm gone in a second.

She stops exactly when she should.

"I'm coming all the way over," she says. She takes my hand and says, "Help
me." I feel her weight and she wriggles out of the screen and sits on the edge
of my desk. She slips off her shoes and hands them to me. "Here," she says.
"We're the same size. Go on, try them on."

Her shoes are warm. I roll them over in my hands. Her scent is on them and I
breathe it in deeply. I love it. I can see where her feet have worn smooth
places on the leather insoles. I see an Italian brand name.

"Yes, they're Italian," she says. "Put them on. I think they'd flatter your
legs."

I think my legs are my best feature. In my private moments, I think my calves
are especially nice. It was years of ballet that did it, of course. I look
down and see how they swoop out from the ankles. The muscles make sharp twin
bulges that always remind me of capital W's when I see them from behind. When
I'm in a store that has a mirror I can see my backside in, I love to get up
quick on my toes and make corners appear where there were curves before. I
hold myself up for a moment, hoping someone sees me, but like I always do, I
let down before anyone does. A half heel would make everything work, I think.
I have a little dress that will go perfect with these shoes.

"I'd like to see how you look in that dress," Catherine says.

I slip on her shoes and walk to my closet. They feel like they're made for me.

"They were," she says. "Made for you. And for me."

I find my little dress and turn around. She's still sitting on my desk with
her legs crossed. I'm suddenly terrified.

"Don't be," she says. "Slip off your robe and get into that dress. I'm dying
to see your ballet calves. I bet those half heels will make your W's look
awesome."

I let my robe fall to the floor. I hope she doesn't notice my stomach. I hope
she focuses on my legs instead.

"Don't worry," she says. "You're forty-five. I expect to see some soft places
on a woman your age. Anyway, I'll focus on your big calves. They're
delightful."

Hers aren't so bad, either, but not as big as mine.

"No, they're not, but we all can't be gifted in the calf department," she
says.

Thighs to die for, I think. Maybe too thin, though, I think.

"You think my thighs are too thin?" she says. "I wonder if I should do more
squats and put a little more meat on them."

I think maybe she should, and she extends her legs and they swell up bigger by
inches with big bumps coming out right above her knees. She runs her hands up
and over them.

She struggles to get her legs crossed again. "You really think they look good,
thick like this?"

I don't, really. The lean look is what caught my eye in the first place. Her
legs shrink back to the way they were and she acts relieved to have some leg
crossing room again.

I nod dumbly. I'm aware that I've got my little dress clutched in front of me.
She makes impatient movements with her hands, indicating she wants me to put
it on and stop standing there like a dunce. I slip it on and wait, wishing
she'd ask me to turn around and go up on my toes.

"Turn around and go up on your toes," she says.

I do. When I'm home alone, I stand so I can see the backs of my legs in the
mirror and go up on my toes and hold it, making my calf muscles get real
distinct. There's a little extra bulge on the lower edge of each inside muscle
I call a 'knuckle' that really sticks out when I've gone up and down about a
hundred times. I've only seen a few other girls who have it. I love it.
Looking at my little knuckles turns me on, but I've never told anyone. I wish
I had the courage to be more open about my legs instead of sneaking looks in
store mirrors.

"Have courage," she says. "It turns me on," Catherine's whispering for some
reason. "I don't blame you for sneaking. It's not easy having legs like yours,
is it?" I hear a wet, repetitive sound. "It's what you want me to do, isn't
it?" she asks. It's not a question. "Go up and down, real slow," she says.

I was hoping she'd say that. I do this when I'm alone. I secretly love my big
calves. If only Catherine knew how many times I'd lain in bed, remembering how
my calf muscles bulged as I climbed the stairs in my office building,
remembering the feel of the hem of my skirt brushing against my hard legs,
wishing someone would share my feelings so I wouldn't have to do myself.

"I love your legs," she gasps. "Look at me over your shoulder," she says.

Catherine's got her shorts pushed down to her knees and she's forking her
clit, pushing the first two fingers of her right hand down hard on either side
of it, making it stand at attention, just like I did a moment ago. She's
left-handed, just like me. I want her to tell me she wants to see my knuckles
pop up.

"Now, go up and hold your calves, hard," she says, whacking away. "Make
knuckles for me."

I want to get myself off again. Knowing the sight of my muscled calves has
turned her on is making me mad with desire. I push up as hard as I can, hold
it tight, and flex my butt cheeks, which for some reason I've never
understood, intensifies the sexual sensation. I feel my knuckles straining
against the skin of my legs like they're going to burst it. Catherine's face
contorts. Her other hand goes to her nipple. The one between her legs is a
blur. I get my hand going and we get in sync. I feel her with me, like inside
my-head-with me, and electricity passes between us. Then we scream in unison.

Catherine falls off my desk and I collapse on the floor. We laugh for a moment
and then get deadly serious and full of purpose. I roll over on all fours and
she does too. We face each other and snarl like rival lionesses. Slowly we pad
towards each other until only a few inches separate our faces. I want to kiss
her.

She knows it, and in an instant she's wrestled me over on my back and her hot
mouth is on mine. Our tongues slip together and touch. The first time is
gentle, just like it should be, then it's harder and harder still, just like
it should be. Now, she's filling my mouth and it's too much. She backs out and
says she's sorry and comes in again.

I want her to say how much she liked looking at my big calves and how she'd
been looking for someone like me as long as she could remember. "I loved
looking at your big calves, going up and holding hard. I've been looking for
someone like you as long as I can remember," she says.

"My pussy is lonely," I say, and before the second half of the sentence is out
of my mouth, she's already easing her way down. When she gets there, she lays
her hot tongue in the place between my clit and my right pussy lip where I go
back and forth to get ready. My hips start to move in a counterclockwise oval,
which is always been the prelude to a mongo orgasm.

It dawns on me that all I have to do is think what I want Catherine to do and
she does it, so I picture her fingers doing to my nipples what I do to them,
and her other hands running through my hair, and for her hands to feel the
backs of my calves when I make them tight, and for her tongue to do just the
right things to my clit (and for her to bite it in just the right way), and it
happens. All of it happens, even thought I've wished for too many hands at
once. Never mind, it happens, and I am delirious with pleasure.

My orgasms sweep me off my foundation. I am like a leaf driven by the wind and
I pull Catherine up by her hair and cling to her lean body like a limpet,
holding on for dear life, afraid to my core I will never get back to my life
as I knew it before this wonderful woman, this thing, this apparition, this
thoughtful companion, came out of my computer screen, and I weep with relief
and anxiety mixed together.

After I compose myself, I sit up, ready to see my lover with a clearer mind. I
am alone on the floor where I last remember holding on to Catherine, but she's
nowhere to be seen. Her outfit, though, is in a pile next to me. I hear my
shower running.

"I'm in here!" she calls.

I pad my way to the bathroom. Catherine pulls back the shower curtain and
pokes her head out. "It's been years since your shower with Tracie," she says.
"It seems to me I reminded you of her and I got a glimpse of a fantasy about
showering, soo..." She lets her voice trail off and crooks her forefinger,
making the 'come here' sign.

I let my dress fall off and step in. I close my eyes to keep Catherine from
seeing my tears. It's been years since my shower with Tracie, but I relive it
almost every time I'm in the shower, remembering how she reached up and took
hold of the shower head and pulled down so it made her lats stick out. She was
wonderfully hard, I recall, and more experienced than me by far. It was only
that one time, though.

"It wasn't enough, was it?"

I open my eyes. Catherine's got hold of the shower head and she's pulling down
so her lats stand out. Without a word, I reach out and put my hands on her
flare. She's as hard as I remember Tracie being.

"Squeeze my lats," Catherine says. "I think I'm harder than she was. Besides,
I won't leave you for another."

She is harder. Not only in her lats, but all over. She's like a rock, except
for her tits.

"Feel them," she says.

My breath catches in my throat. In an instant, I'm a schoolgirl, remembering a
slumber party years ago, remembering the first buds I felt. I cup them and
squeeze gently. They give just like they should. Nice nipples, too. Catherine
gives me the go-ahead and I take each nipple between my thumbs and
forefingers. Like that first time and every time since, I'm reminded of pencil
erasers.

"That's what they remind me of, too." She laughs.

I look up at her. She's about six inches taller than me. I like that. I like
her. I like everything about her, in fact.

"Do you like my arms?" She pulls hard on the shower head and her muscles pop
up. I make soap and rub along them, feeling the round hardness. I smile. "Do
you like my shoulders?" They fill my hands. I smile again. "My lats, I know
you like," she says, and flares her back. I run my hands along the ridges of
muscle that run from her armpits to her waist. I shiver. "My waist?" Six-pack.
I nod. "My ass?" Soft and round in the first instant, but then quickly hard in
the next. I can't dent her butt cheeks. My mouth falls open. She makes it soft
again, and then hard.

I get in back of her. I want to see it move when she flexes it. I wish she'd
tighten it, and then relax it over and over again, and she does without me
having to ask. She stops, leaving her ass relaxed. I let my left hand go
between her cheeks. The tip of my finger grazes her anus on the way past. I
put one finger, then two, then three in her pussy. I never knew what putting
my finger in someone else's anus might be like. I want to.

"Why don't you?" she says, still holding on to the shower head. "Use your
other hand," she says.

I think she should bend over. It would be easier, I think, and that moment,
she lets go of the shower head and puts her hands on the wall to steady
herself, bends over and goes up on her toes. My other forefinger slips in her
little circle. It's astonishing to be this close to someone. I'm in her
privatemost hot places, and I'm suddenly very afraid I will be punished.

"You won't be," she says, reading my mind again. "You're doing just what you
should, what you want to, what I want you to, and you're about to make me
come. Wriggle all your fingers. Both hands. How could this be wrong?" she
gasps.

It is wrong, but it's right, too. So right. Just like it was with Tracie. It
was so right then, and it's so right now. Then Catherine turns into Tracie.
Literally. She morphs into Tracie, takes my hand out of her, turns around and
pushes me up against the shower wall and forces herself on me. Before I can
say 'yes' or 'no' she wriggles her hot tongue into my mouth and her soapy leg
pushes up between mine. When her thigh makes contact with my pussy, I start
humping reflexively. Her hands are everywhere^×feeling my arms, my tits, and
squeezing my ass and holding my face and she's kissing me so hard it hurts my
lips. I'm ashamed and exhilarated at the same time. I've got déjà vu real bad.

Catherine/Tracie's passion overwhelms me. The waves come and I shudder,
thrusting myself against her hard thigh, sobbing like a baby. After the last
wave has come and gone I just stand there with my arms wrapped around her with
water splattering in all directions. I can't think^×all I can do is hold on to
her. My eyes burn.

Just like years ago, she winds her arms around my waist and I can feel how
strong she is and I'm getting hot again but I'm ashamed again. And again, I'm
thinking how delicious and awful it is and how exhilarated and guilty I feel
and I think I'm surely going to be punished for what I'm doing when she kisses
me on the mouth again and I melt into her arms and I know I've done this exact
same thing before and I want it to stop but I want it to go on forever.

I'm hot and wet and I get off again and again, kissing her with my mouth wide
open and my tongue squirming around from one side of her mouth to the other
and my hands all over her thin strong body.

All at once Catherine/Tracie draws back and says, "Fuck me in the ass," and
before I can say 'yes' or 'no' she turns around again and bends over at the
waist. She reaches around and takes my left hand and puts it in her crack and
I know I'm supposed to stick my finger in again. I do and she reaches around
and pulls me hard into her. I bend over so my belly touches her back and run
my other hand down the front of her thighs and start humping my finger into
her and moments later I get off and I know my wet stuff is running down her
legs but all I can think about is Catherine/Tracie screaming with pleasure and
how the sound is bouncing around in my shower, just like it did years ago,
echoing off the concrete walls in the public showers at the park.

Then she stands up and motions me to turn around. "I want to feel your legs,"
she says. Her chest is heaving. She gets down on her knees and puts her hands
on my calves and tells me to rise up on my toes. I start going up and down and
her strong hands are all over my calves, feeling the ridges on the sides of
them and squeezing hard where the two big muscles end in a capital W with
extra knuckles. Her touch reminds me of something I did a long time ago and I
get that naughty teenager feeling again, just like I did with the real Tracie
and I wish my déjà vu would stop.

In a fugue, I reach up and grab the shower head and make the stream hit my
breasts and that is all I need. I go up on my toes as high as I can and my
calves cramp up and my ass shakes and I come again. Then Catherine/Tracie
stands up and becomes purely Catherine, right before my eyes, and I fall into
her arms.

She gives me time to recover. When I'm ready, she whispers, "You didn't
realize I reminded you of her, did you?"

"Not at first. But then as it went on, the here-and-now seemed to blend with
the past, and I got to remembering her. I'm sorry. Don't be jealous. It's just
that she was...well, very special."

Catherine says, "I know. Of course I'm not jealous. Don't be silly. Haven't
you figured it out?" She wound her arms around my waist. "I'm whatever you
think. I don't own me, you own me. So, why would I be jealous?" She kisses me
lightly.

The water went cool, then cold. Another very special girl occurs to me and I
banish her as soon as I sense she's near, like I always do. "Let's get out," I
say.

"OK," she says. She turns the water off and steps out. "Where are your
towels?"

I picture the linen closet in the hall.

"Very funny," she says. "They're not in the linen closet. I saw where they
really are. That's the thing about being a Thoughtful Companion, you know. I
know what you think."

"And what do I think? What do I really want?"

"Your first girlfriend. You want her, don't you? You never stopped wanting
her, did you?"

I'm in tears now. "God damn it anyway! God damn you! You've got no business
knowing about that!"

"I've got unlimited access," she says. "Whatever you think, I know."

"But you can't know that!"

"But I do," she says. "And I know it's her you want."

I'm on my knees now, begging. "Please don't."

Catherine morphs again. Now she's Valerie in her softball uniform, just like
the first time I saw her, and we're back...I mean back, back. I'm still my age
now and she's of indeterminate age, but we're back by the right field fence.
"Long time, no see," she says, sprawling down next to where I've been watching
the team practice. She's a jock, through and through. She almost throws
herself down, I notice.

Her friends from the softball team go by and hoot at us. She gives them the
finger, and when I look to see if her expression is friendly or mean, she
takes my face with her hands and before I know it, she's turned me to her and
she's pulling my face to hers. Our lips touch, and my nipples stand up.
Valerie reaches under my top and unsnaps my bra and goes around and cups my
left tit and takes my nipple between her thumb and forefinger, just like I do.
"Nice nipple," she says.

"Is my tit too small for you?"

She shakes her head 'no,' then she pulls me down so we're lying next to each
other. In slow motion, I bring her face to mine. Our mouths open and our
tongues touch for the first time. She has her hands all over me, grabbing and
squeezing. I want her to let me put my leg between hers, and with that
thought, she opens up and lets me put my thigh in between. She's freshly
shaved. I run my toe up her calf. I can feel how strong it is.

"Yours are bigger," she says.

I stick my leg up and point my toe. My ballet calf bulges. "You like?" I want
her to like it.

With a wrestling move, she pulls me on top of her. Valerie's a lot stronger
than me and I like that. Knowing what I think, she hugs me like a bear and
kisses me with great force, pushing her tongue in. Pussy to pussy, mouth glued
on mouth, we grind away, humping in the grass by the fence. I don't care if
anyone sees us. I'm nineteen and I'm forty-five, and I never got any older
than nineteen in some part, I realize, and I never did get over Valerie and
her hard jock body on that first wild day in the grass by the right field
fence, and thinking that, my forty-five year old body has a naive nineteen
year-old girl's orgasm and I arch and jerk and jerk and arch. When it's over,
I whisper "I love you, Valerie. I love you. I've never stopped loving you,"
and I kiss and kiss and kiss her.

When I open my eyes and see Catherine's face, I panic.

"What's the matter?" she says.

I roll off and away from her. "You're the matter. I'm the matter. We're the
matter," I say.

"Ah," she says. "It's a control thing."

I roll back to her. "Who is in control, anyway?" "You are."

I roll on my back and stare at my hallway ceiling. "If that's so, why do you
keep changing when I don't want you to?"

Catherine finds my hand. Her fingers weave into mine. "I don't do what you
don't really want me to," she says.

"But why did you become Valerie and then change back? I didn't want you to and
then I did and then I didn't want you to change back to Catherine."

"Who are you trying to fool? In your heart of hearts, you long for her still,
don't you? Isn't that so?" She gives my hand a squeeze.

She's right and there's no sense arguing, since she knows I realize she's
right.

I roll back to her and nestle my head in the place between her chin and
shoulder. Catherine makes room for me just like I want her to.

We lie together for long minutes without saying anything (which I predict is
what we're going to be doing a lot of). I compare the advantages of having a
companion who knows what I'm thinking to the disadvantage, which is that I
have no privacy. The upside is that sex will be glorious. The downside is I
won't be able to get away from her. This will take some getting used to, I
think.

Catherine gives my hand a reassuring squeeze.