I could've spent all day beating myself up over two kisses.
But after running away from Wayne, I brought Oscar back to my room and finally decided to clean myself up. I desperately needed some new clothes, but couldn’t imagine rendering anything other than my old wardrobe of tasteful, boring dresses. Then I pictured Maggie at the grocery store. Who could forget that ensemble? I recycloned an exact replica of her outfit in my size. I even made the same clunky red boots, but the jeans felt… I traced my fingertips over the stitching on the back pocket and wiggled my butt in the mirror. These tight pants made me feel—oh, so sexy.
I heard Wayne’s voice in my head:
I LOVE THE WAY YOU MOVE.
That man was tapped right into my brain. Experiences, thoughts, feelings, wishes—he knew them all. I would never be able to hide anything from him. Plus, kissing him made me feel super-duper guilty, because I liked it and wanted to do so much more. Ever since meeting him in the library, I’ve been imagining what it would be like to go further—way further—with him. It made me feel all hot and tingly down there. Marvelously sinful. Moist. Squishy really. Nobody else has ever done that to me, not even Norman.
Well, that wasn’t entirely true.
Maggie turned me on too.
Damn, I felt so freaking confused.
I still couldn’t believe Maggie made a pass at me. At the time, it made me angry—real angry. But now? Well, the world didn’t end, did it? I still felt dirty for kissing a girl, partly because it wasn’t my idea, but mostly because I secretly enjoyed it. New Stepford was a small town, so I’d never met a lesbian before. Heck, I’d never even thought about any woman that way before. But Maggie crossed the line on the bottom of that pool, so I had to hit her. She gave me no other choice. Did she?
But still, I had to admit, there was something tantalizing about her forbidden fruit. I found Maggie so damned attractive, not necessarily in a pretty way, but in a bad girl way. I admired my reflection in the mirrored wall of my sandbox. Wearing her outfit made me feel deliciously naughty, because somewhere deep down inside, a part of me wanted to be just like her. And if that meant sleeping with women—
“Just stop.” I smacked myself across the face and scolded myself in the mirror, “Stop thinking about sexy sex.”
I needed a distraction—something else to focus on. I loved playing with the utility wall and wanted to learn everything that gizmo could do. So I used the recyclone to render aquatic plants and fish furniture and got busy decorating Oscar’s aquarium. Before long, I finished his tank, and my fish happily dug into the blue gravel behind his new log. Instantly, my mind wandered back to kissing Maggie. I needed a bigger project to get my mind off her. Oscar’s cozy new home gave me an idea. It was time I decorated my own space, so I decided to turn this empty sandbox into my dream kitchen.
My design started with an L-shaped layout and center island. It took me awhile to figure out how to generate things larger then the microwave-sized rendering box. I hopped up on the counter of the utility wall, closed my eyes, and imagined a stainless-steel subzero fridge right where I wanted it. Then when I opened my eyes again—presto! There it was. Once I cracked that mystery, I rendered all the major appliances, commercial grade all the way. Next, I installed countertops and cabinets. Finally, I added a loaded pot rack over the island sink, and put a couple barstools there.
Suddenly, I heard a loud thump. Startled, Oscar jerked himself awake and zipped through the water. Then another thump—and another. The sound was coming from Maggie’s room. Uh-oh! Did she fall? Was she hurt? I hurried down the hall to check, but her door was closed. I pressed my ear against the cold chrome barrier. Inside, I recognized the familiar sound of Maggie huffing and puffing—like when we were sparring. Maybe she was working out again. She loved to chase those cardio highs. I’d never met such an exercise freak. But then the moaning started. It was slow and low and rhythmic at first. For some reason, it reminded me of Norman.
And I heard Maggie’s voice inside my head:
(Come on in and join me, Cookie.)
Oh, hell no! I jumped back from the door. Why did I feel like a little girl who just got caught with her hand in the cookie jar? Maggie moaned again, higher and louder and longer this time. Then I heard her partner grunting with pleasure—and it was a him! Shit, shit, she was having sex, and with a man. I wasn’t sure why that surprised me. I guess I’d just assumed—
(Ass. You. Me. Yum.)
OMG! She’s the worst! I sprinted down the hall, disappeared back into my room, and shut the door behind me.
Now what should I do?
(Do ME.)
Shut up, shut up, shut up.
I had to get Maggie’s voice out of my head. I needed to do something—BAKE something! But my oven wasn’t installed yet. There was no gas hookup, and I hadn’t figured out how to—
(I’ve got all the heat you need right here, baby.)
No, no, no, no, Maggie.
There had to be more than one way to bake a cake. I hustled over to the utility wall and rendered a waffle iron. Then I plugged it in at the island, and the red indicator light glowed as the ceramic heated up. Meanwhile, I started generating groceries like crazy; eggs, milk, bread, butter, cheese, and meat. Then I made a mixing bowl and a whisk. I decided to get busy my own way. I’d make breakfast!
But the Name Game popped into my head:
Maggie, Maggie, bo-baggie,
banana-fanna fo-faggie
fee fi mo-maggie
Maggie!
I pressed my palms over my ears and asked, “Can I mute my own thoughts?”
ILLEGAL OPERATION.
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” I snapped back at the cloud. “It was a rhetorical question.”
The moaning. The groaning. The thumping. The screaming. I couldn’t take it anymore! Even Oscar was hiding. I rendered some earplugs and crammed them deep into my ears, but I could still hear her obnoxious lovemaking.
(Don’t call it making love, that makes it sound so goddamned Disneyfied. Call it FUCKING, because that’s what the fuck I do. I FUCK!)
I know you’re putting on a big show, Maggie. This is a huge castle. You could’ve gone anywhere to entertain your fella. But NO. You WANT me to hear.
(And you could go to any other room in the palace too. No one has locked you in. You’re free to roam. You could leave if you wanted to. But you stay put, so I think you LIKE listening.)
No, I don’t!
(I think you’re jealous.)
No, I’m not!
(Does it make you HOT?)
And now I was arguing with Maggie in my mind.
(Does it? Are you getting turned on, Cookie?)
Aroused and repulsed at the same time, I screamed at the cloud, “Mute Margaret Rouser!”
ILLEGAL OPERATION.
“What? Why?”
TAKE THIS TIME TO PRACTICE MINDFULNESS.
“Oh, my GOD,” I shook my fist at the soft white ceiling. “Go screw yourself!”
(Now you’re talking, Cookie.)
Shut up, Maggie! Don’t you have something better to do?
(Don’t YOU?)
Clearly, nobody was going to help me out here. I wasn’t surprised that Maggie had found a way to weaponize sex—but I refused to be her next victim. To distract myself from her intrusive comments, I decided to make up a new kitchen game—Will It Waffle? The object of the game was to think of anything I’d normally pan-fry or grill and then prepare it with a waffle iron. French toast? Yes. It was crispy and sweet and held syrup just like a waffle. A hamburger? Believe it or not, yes. It was absolutely delicious. How about a grilled cheese sandwich? Oh yeah. The cheddar soaked into the bread as it toasted. It was crunchy and a little greasy, but totally worth it—
(You do realize we don’t even need to eat.)
I stared at the waffled food all over the island, and that was when it hit me. I can eat anything I want—and as much as I want, and I’d never gain an ounce of weight.
(Bingo.)
And I bet that was why Rita never lost any weight either. She was torturing herself for nothing. We were made the way we were made.
(Right again, my little sugar Cookie.)
What a shame. I’d spent so much time worrying about my weight and hating my body. Norman had always wanted me to stay trim for him, but now that I knew dieting was impossible, his encouragement seemed like a form of psychological torture. Before I had a chance to get angry about his years of manipulation, more throes of passion echoed through the bower. Maggie was approaching yet another orgasm—sex so loud that it was unbelievable.
“Come on, Maggie. Get it.” Her gentleman caller cheered her on. “Cum for me. Yes, girl. Get it. Who is your daddy?”
Wait just a minute. “Analyze voice pattern.”
And the damn Name Game returned to my head:
Wayne, Wayne, bo-bane,
banana-fanna fo-feign
fee fi mo-main
Wayne!
No. It couldn’t be.
A perfect match returned from the cloud:
WAYNE DIXON.
Maggie screamed her head off for him.
That can’t be real. Nothing feels THAT good. You’re faking it.
After the longest time, it was finally over, and then there was silence again. But soon, my door opened, and Wayne casually sauntered into my room—completely buck-naked and still sporting an impressive erection. I was both impressed and offended. This dark hunk of a man had the most deeply sculpted muscles I’d ever seen in my life. He stood tall and strong before me. Nude. Perfect. Bald. Glorious. Glistening with sweat. Musky. And he was so well-endowed down there—HUGE really. Damn, I was jealous—of both of them.
“I heard that,” Wayne whispered to me.
“What?”
He tugged the earplugs out of my ears.
I was crushed. “But I thought you liked me.”
Before Wayne had a chance to respond, Maggie strutted into my sandbox wearing her navy-blue police uniform with no pants. No pants! The two of them, that was some kinky swinger shit right there.
She took one look around and said, “You’re determined to keep yourself stuck in the kitchen, aren’t you?”
“It’s all I know,” I mumbled, ashamed.
All her buttons were undone except the bottom one, and she wore no bra, exposing her cleavage all the way down to her navel. Official patches adorned her dark blue shirt. Hard nipples poked out from behind buttoned pockets under her shiny silver badge and name tag. Her shirttails hung just low enough to hide the goodies. Black leather accessories packed her thick utility belt, holding her collection of accomplices; handcuffs, a telescoping baton, pepper spray, latex gloves—
—And a gun.
I couldn’t take my eyes off the semiautomatic holstered to her side. It was so big, so heavy. I’d never seen a real gun before, not in New Stepford. She caught me ogling her weapon, so I averted my eyes and tapped a copper pot hanging between us. It clanged against a cast iron pan and swayed overhead like a pendulum keeping time.
“I love this room,” I sighed.
“Jumping Jesus, I’ve given you the power to create anything you can imagine, and you went and made another kitchen,” she scolded. “What’s wrong with you?”
I wished I knew.
Maggie pointed at my bare midriff, then fingered her handcuffs. “I should arrest you for stealing my whole look.”
Busted.
“Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery,” Maggie said as she leaned over the island and suggestively slid the red bra strap off my shoulder.
Wayne interjected, “It is also a basic form of learning.”
“Humph,” Maggie scoffed, “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
She was so damned infuriating.
“Well, look at us,” Wayne tried to diffuse the situation, then took a big bite out of my waffled hamburger, and said, “Mm-hmm! This is a tasty burger.”
“But look, Maggie, I figured out how to render complex things—big things—all by myself.” I pointed out all that I’d made. “Real walnut cabinets. Black granite countertops. Stainless steel appliances. Subzero fridge. Gourmet grilling stove. Double-decker ovens.” I made a grand sweeping gesture at the whole room. “This will be my dream kitchen.”
“Yeah, well, you need to dream bigger, Cookie.” She sat on a barstool across from me and exposed herself before finally crossing her legs. That’s when I noticed her cute little footie socks had pink rosebuds on them. “All you’ve done is move from one prison to another.”
“This is not a prison. It’s mine.”
“Big diff, a prison of the mind then.” She winked at Wayne.
“How rude of me not to offer, ladies. How about a threesome?” He glanced down at his hard black cock. “I am up for it.”
“That’s it. I’ve had it!” I marched right up to the nude man and slapped him across the face. “Get out of my room!”
Wayne left, dejected.
“Both of you perverts!” I shouted as I grabbed Maggie by the collar, pulled her off the stool, and tossed her out too. “Stay the hell away from me!”
And that was how Maggie got into my head.