F Paul Wilson - Secret History 02 (38 page)

           
You've been waiting over an hour
now, and you are impatient. You slip in quickly and immediately suppress her
consciousness. When you're satisfied that she is locked down in stage 3 sleep,
you relax and let yourself flow through her nervous system, taking control of
her motor cortex, tapping the inputs of her sensory system.

           
You become aware: of the soft
flannel touch of her nightgown against her skin; of the pillow against the back
of her head; of the slight burning in her stomach, hyperacidic from the stresses
of the day; of the dry, slightly sour taste in her mouth; of the susurrant flow
of air through her lips and nose as it fills her lungs; of the sounds of the
still active city as they filter into the darkened bedroom.

           
And now, once again, she is yours.

           
You've
become
Kara Wade.

           
Her skin, her muscles, her bones,
her breasts and genitalia, her five senses, all yours to do with as you wish.

           
And you wish to get out of this bed.

           
You throw back the covers and turn
on the light. Then you pull the flannel nightgown over your head and step
before the full length mirror on the closet door to look again.

           
What
a wonderful body.

           
You never tire of looking at Kara
Wade's body, of
wearing
Kara Wade's
body. You run your hands over her breasts—
your
breasts now—and feel a delicious tingle as the nipples rise under your gentle
caress. Kelly's breasts were slightly higher, slightly firmer, the nipples
pinker, but Kelly was a nullip. Kara has borne a child and that causes certain
inevitable changes.

           
You loved Kelly's body and were
shattered when you lost it. You had such good times with it—something about her
attracted men like flies. Hardly a one refused your advances when you were wearing
Kelly. That was why you were determined to have Kara from the moment you saw
her standing in the doorway to your consultation room. You knew it would be
just like having your dear sweet Kelly back. And it is. Only better. Much
better.

           
You take a deep breath, thrusting
the breasts outward and drawing in the abdomen. A beautiful shape. Enough body
fat to give her that feminine roundness, but not an inch of flab. And that
natural blonde thatch between her legs—superb.

           
You flex the muscles in the arms and
legs and buttocks feeling their high tone, their excellent conditioning. Kara
takes superb care of her body, much better than Kelly ever did. This is a body
that can go the distance, that will never tire. You wish you could stay with it
permanently.

           
And to think she was almost warned
away. You very nearly cried out when you saw the note. The audacity of it.
Meddling in your affairs. Punishment was swift and severe—and continues even
now. Yesterday's note was the first—and last.

           
But you mustn't distract yourself
with these matters now. Your time in Kara's body is limited—after all, you have
to allow her
some
rest—and you wish
to make the most of it. You pull on jeans and a sweater, not bothering with
underwear, then open the closet. Inside, you drop to your knees and pull out a
loose section of molding along the floor. From inside you pluck a pair of keys
and a wad of bills, mostly hundreds. You peel off the smaller bills and five
hundreds, and return the rest to the cubby hole.

           
So convenient to be able to use the
same old hiding place for the keys and money, but Kara ruined your hiding
places here for the kinds of clothes you prefer to wear on your evening jaunts.
You'll have to find a new place. There's always the house in Chelsea. You could
keep the clothes there, but that would run the risk of being seen going in and
out night after night. You don't want any link between Kara and her therapist
outside the office.

           
A locker. That's it. You'll find a
locker somewhere to store the clothes, somewhere between the apartment and the
hotel district. And you can change in the hotel room you'll be renting for the
night. That will work.

           
Or why not simply throw the clothing
away each night after you use her? You certainly don't have to worry about
economizing.

           
You'll decide later. Right now you
have to get down to that all night boutique in SoHo that carries the things you
like, and then you'll have to find a hotel.

           
You unlock the apartment door with
your key. The other is for the Chelsea House because every so often you have to
visit home with the borrowed body, usually to pick up a fresh supply of cash.
You peek down the hall. Empty. Good. You don't want to be seen by any of the
neighbors.

           
You smile with Kara's lips. You
don't have to worry about that meddlesome detective lover of Kara's spotting
you as you leave, either. You caught him following you in his car tonight
during the walk from your house to the office. Let him sit outside the office
all night if he wishes. He'll learn nothing.

           
That detective—he's the only fly in
this otherwise perfect ointment. He could ruin everything if Kara becomes too
involved with him. Should that come to pass, you'll have to think of a way to
scare him off. That might be fun. You could have terrorized the fellow on
Tuesday night, but instead you settled for a quick fuck—and not a bad one,
actually—and then left Kara to sleep away the rest of the night. The detective
wasn't bad in bed, but night after night the same lover would bore you. No
variety there.

           
And, cliche though it might be,
variety is indeed the spice of life.

           
Twirling the key ring on your
finger, you hurry down the hall to the stairs and try to decide on which of the
big hotels to use tonight. You've always been fond of the Waldorf with its
international clientele. That Hindu fellow last night had practically memorized
the
Kama Sutra
. Between his agile
tongue and rock hard penis, he bought you and Kara's body to orgasm five times!
He was worth three ordinary fellows. Too bad he left for India this morning. A
repeat performance would be something to look forward to.

           
But no. Even if the Hindu was
available tonight you would find someone else. That is your new rule. Never
twice with the same man. Never a New Yorker or a New Jersey or Connecticut
native. The further away the home, the better. One night stands, only.

           
Of course, that increases the risk
of VD or even AIDS, but that is a risk you'll have to take. Not that you're at
risk for contracting the disease yourself, but something like AIDS will wreck a
beautiful body like Kara's, and then you'll be forced to go out and find a new
one.

           
Kara isn't the only body you have
available to you, but it's certainly the best. You'll still use the others now
and then to maintain contact and to give Kara a rest. But Kara is going to be
your new Number One, slipping perfectly into the slot vacated by her sister.
Too bad Kelly is dead. It would have been nice to alternate between them. Too
bad you can only control one body at a time. Putting Kelly and Kara in bed
together is a magnificent fantasy.

           
The thought of the late great Kelly
brings to mind something you've been meaning to do. You'll have to get over to
Wheatley's office and change your will again.

           
Out on the street you have no
trouble finding a cab. Three of them practically have a fight trying to pick
you up when Kara stands on the corner and raises her hand.

           
You love being beautiful.

           
You give the lucky driver of the
first cab an address on Greene Street and settle back in the seat, savoring the
sensations bubbling through you. Even after all these years, it's still a
thrill to switch bodies, especially to a newer one. Still a thrill to sway it
through a hotel lobby or bar and draw hungry stares from all the men— all the
straight ones—and even a few women. You won't balk at matching Kara up with
another woman if the opportunity presents itself, but it's more difficult to
arrange. Men are so much easier to acquire, even in pairs.

           
You prefer to wear a woman. Their
bodies are so much more versatile, and they are capable of so much more
pleasure than a male. In your vast experience playing either sex you've
concluded that there is really no comparison. A woman's body is a vastly
superior sexual instrument. The problem is, as always, finding a sufficiently
accomplished musician.

           
You've been borrowing bodies for,
what?, nearly forty-five years now. Ever since you were about six years old.
Not with your present degree of expertise and subtlety, of course. You had to
learn by trial and error. There were no teachers in this art.

           
You remember how it started. It was
just about the time the family was preparing to flee the old country.
Everything was in turmoil, emotions running high, conflicting, confused. That
was when you began experiencing flashes of those emotions. Not from within, but
from without.
Others'
emotions. You
would follow those emotions and find yourself looking through the eyes of your
sister, Marta, or one of your brothers, seeing what they saw, feeling what they
felt, actually
inside
them.

           
But you couldn't maintain the
contact. Not in those days. And the other minds would rebel, push you away.
They wouldn't know it was you, that it was
anybody
.
They just knew that something was wrong and subconsciously reacted against you.
But you kept on trying, probing. You had to. And by trial and error you
discovered that you achieved your best results during the night when they were
asleep. You could enter them then without resistance. And as long as they
stayed asleep, you could make their arms and legs move. Eventually you learned
to keep them asleep and unaware. That done, you could get them up and walk
around in their bodies.

           
But instinctively you knew right
from the start that yours was an ability that had to be kept secret. You could
do something that other people could not— although you suspected your sister
Marta had some undiscovered capability like yours. So maybe it was genetic.
You'd caught hints in the family history that there may have been others with a
power like yours, but nothing definite. And those records are long gone now.

           
But what does it matter, really? It
is a fool's game to root about for causes. The why and how is irrelevant. You
power exists, you know how to use it, you
love
using it. Where it comes from
simply
doesn't matter
.

           
Whatever the cause—accident or
heredity—you knew your ability would cause fear in other people, so you kept it
a secret for much of your childhood.

           
With adolescence, you became bolder
and perfected your technique.

           
On Green Street, you pay the cabby
and go into the Nite Owl Boutique to pick out some sexy clothes. The owner's
eyes light up at the sight of Kara's familiar face—she thinks she's still
dealing with Kelly. Dollar signs flash in her eyes and she comes over
immediately to help.

           
As you browse through the racks of low-cut
tops and high-cut skirts, and undergarments with unconventional but strategic
openings, you think about how far you've come. From listening in on emotions to
taking absolute control over—all but
owing
—this
fabulous body.