Transplant — Chapter Three

by Arnold Snyder

 

After I got back to the post office, I turned in my keys and accountables, punched off the clock and drove straight to my apartment. I needed to take a quick shower and spend at least a few minutes neurotically pacing and grooming. I agonized over colognes, flossed, scraped my tongue, trimmed my toe nails, clipped my nose hair.

She likes a man in uniform. Does she have any idea what I smell like after work? Does she have any idea how much I loathe that uniform that pegs me as a blue collar servant of the public? Those awful polyester pants that cause my legs to break out in a rash when I sweat? That stinking uniform? I can’t wait to get home and take it off.

I put on a clean pair of jeans and a polo shirt. Put on my loafers, then changed to sneakers, then changed to a nicer pair of slacks and back to the loafers.

Somehow, by four-something, I found myself knocking at her door with a twelve-buck bottle of sauvignon blanc in hand. I had rushed. My temples and lower back were sweating.

She came to the door in a bulky plaid quilted robe and bare feet. I was mildly surprised at how much shorter she was. Her hair fell over the large square frames of her glasses. I’d never seen her in glasses. No make-up. I had the impression she’d just gotten out of bed. I immediately worried there was some other guy in her apartment.

She opened the door wider and stepped back to allow me in. I entered her living room and looked around as she pushed the door closed behind me. I peered into the kitchen to see that Dusty was still there on the kitchen table, still strapped up tightly.

“You want some coffee?” Megan asked. “I just made it. It’s Ethiopian. Strong as hell.”

I could smell the coffee. Now I was getting the feeling some other guy had just left.

“I’ve been drinking coffee all day,” I said. I proffered the wine.

She made a face. “Don’t be mad, okay?” she said. “I don’t have the soup made yet. Do you want a Soy Tart?”

Mmm. Wine and soy tarts. I was mildly pissed off. All day long, she was all I could think about, and she seemed to have forgotten that we even had a date set up. It wasn’t like she was a girlfriend, or anyone I had even a casual relationship with … I didn’t know her at all. I should have had no expectations. But I had come to believe that I was about to get laid, and I was so damn horny, and she had led me on so flagrantly …  And how long ago did the other guy leave? Has she even taken a shower yet?

“Can I ask you a question, Megan? Why do I have the impression you just got out of bed?”

“Really, Morgan. I’m sorry I’m not ready—” She looked down at the floor. “Don’t be mad at me, okay? I wasn’t trying to—”

“I’m not mad. I just think you forgot I was coming over. Your hair’s not even combed.”

She had this way of looking guilty and cute at the same time. “I combed it,” she said. “I just combed it to look like I didn’t comb it. If I really didn’t comb it, it wouldn’t look this good.”

“So, since I left after coffee this morning, you’ve been doing… what?”

“Getting ready,” she said. “I didn’t want you to know I was excited about you coming over. It’s not good for a girl to look over-eager. Did I really blow it? Will you at least come in and sit down?”

I thought for a moment. I wondered what she had on under her robe.

“Honest, Morgan,” she said. “I tried on lots of outfits, but everything made me feel like I was trying too hard. I was afraid I already came on too strong. I didn’t want to turn you off. I was actually afraid you were going to stand me up. When you came to the door, I was so happy, but I was trying to be blasé so I wouldn’t scare you away.”

Hmm … I didn’t know if I believed any of this, but maybe I’m going to get laid after all. I was still concerned she’d just finished fucking some other guy. “Did you have a chance to take a shower?” I asked.

“I took a bath,” she said. “A long bath… actually. two baths. I’m real clean, Morgan. All over. I smell good. Are you going to stay? Please? I can see you changed out of your uniform. You smell good. Is that Old Spice? I love Old Spice. I’m just an old-fashioned girl in lots of ways.”

The woman was deranged. Totally deranged. But she was right about the Old Spice. Despite her 3.45 Smith Scale score, my irritation had given way to amusement and lust.

“I’m thinking about it,” I said. “You are a real piece of work, Megan. Geezus … I was really looking forward to the bouillabaisse.”

“I have all the fixings,” she said. “I shopped this afternoon. I’ve got fresh prawns and scallops—”

“And why, exactly, did you invite me over? Was it for the soup?”

She looked down momentarily, then looked me in the eye. “You’re my type,” she said.

“Meaning?”

“You take charge. You’re … dominant.”

Dominant? I thought of Dusty, her cow horn agave in bondage. I suspected Megan might be a bit kinkier than me. Ha! I am so vanilla. What am I doing here? She wants dominant.

“Well, I’m glad you like dominant men, Megan, because I’m dominant.”

“I believe I mentioned you should call me Babs,” she said.

“Oh, yes, I forgot. My apologies. I’ve been thinking of you all day as Megan. That’s what your mailbox says. It’s what your mail says. But I absolutely will call you Babs from now on.” I pulled out my phone and changed the name I’d entered for her from “Megan” to “Babs,” before continuing: “I think you’re more experienced at this dominant-submissive thing than me, so I’ll be the dominant one but feel free to give me pointers if I flub it up. I’ll do whatever you say.” After a brief pause, I corrected myself, “I mean, you’ll do whatever I say.”

She stared at me for a moment as if I were speaking a foreign language. “Morgan,” she said, “take a deep breath and start over. Let’s sit on the couch.”

“Right,” I said, as I took a seat on her couch and she sat beside me, pulling one of her legs up under her so she could turn and face me. I could see into the kitchen, could see Dusty was still strapped up. I looked at Megan. Her robe had opened slightly, revealing her heavenly cleavage.

Dominant, she wants dominant. I can’t screw this up. This may be the only chance I have in my life to get laid by the likes of Babsarella. Dominant. Don’t blow it.

“You are aware, aren’t you,” I said, “that even though I’ve changed out of my uniform I’m still a federal official?”

She bit down on her lower lip. “Yes,” she said softly.

“So I must assume you’re unfamiliar with the postal regulations that should be governing your actions right now.”

Again, she bit down on her lip. “What do you mean?” she said. “If you tell me the regulations, I promise I’ll comply.”

Geezus. The regulations …

“Well, for one thing, you’re not dressed properly,” I said. “Regulation 233b. You can’t wear plaid after noon on a weekday.”

She looked down at her robe, then stood up, stepped back, loosened the knotted belt, allowing the robe to fall open. “Is this better?” she asked, slipping it off of her shoulders and letting it fall to the floor. She was wearing a pair of white cotton bikini panties. That’s all. The gray hip-band said Calvin Klein. I couldn’t take my eyes off the tits that made Babsarella famous.

“Wow,” I said. “You really are something to behold.” Dominant. Dominant. “But you’re only half-dressed. Regulation 652c requires you to be wearing high heels.”

Now she had a serious look on her face. “Show me which ones to put on,” she said. “They’re in my closet. In my room.”

“Just put on the highest ones you have,” I said. “I’ll wait here.”

She turned and left the room, dragging her plaid robe behind her. Jesus Christ, was I really going to fuck this girl?

I looked around at the jungle of her living room. For the first time I noticed that a few of her other plants were tied up, one in leather straps similar to Dusty’s, another draped in white lace ribbon.

I went into the kitchen to look at Dusty. I felt as if I’d promised to free her. Seeing the way the leather straps dug into her flesh, I again felt the urgency of getting this done quickly. But I can’t just start messing with Megan’s plants and especially not this one since she told me the whole story of Dusty’s dysfunctional childhood and alleged bondage fetish. “Just hang on, Dusty,” I said softly. “I’ve got a plan.”

But I didn’t have a plan. I went back to the living room and sat back down on the couch. The only thing I could think of was to tell Megan about my brief talk with Dusty. Then see where it goes from there. But I didn’t want to sound like I was accusing her of anything.

Corrugated cardboard boxes were still strewn all over. I set down the bottle of wine on the polished burlwood coffee table.

Megan reentered the room, now wearing just her panties and a pair of high-heeled shoes that strapped up above her ankles. She had also applied some lipstick and brushed her hair. Wow. I liked the ankle straps.

“How’s this?” she asked, stopping about ten feet away from me. She peered at me from over the top of her glasses.

“Turn around,” I said.

She obeyed without hesitation, pivoting on one heel. She cocked a hip and looked at me over her shoulder.

“That’s better,” I said. “Come here.”

She turned and walked toward me. I stood up. With her heels on, her eyes were at my eye level. She stopped right in front of me, looking at me, waiting.

Keep your cool. You’ve got this dominant thing down. I could kiss her right now. She’s expecting it. Dominant.

I took a step back and sat back down on the sofa.

“I’m going to have to examine the area of greatest concern to the federal authorities,” I said. “Come closer and turn around.”

She did as requested, turning her back to me, looking at me over her shoulder.

“Now bend over and hold your ankles,” I said. “Keep your legs straight. And don’t let go. Hold that position.”

She obeyed, looking at me upside down from around one knee.

I’d never had a slave before … but that’s what she was, my slave …

“What are you going to do to me?” she asked. Her bangs were off her forehead, and her glasses had fallen to where her bangs had been.

I held her thighs in both of my hands, now looking her in the eyes, upside down. “The same thing the feds do when they get anyone into this position,” I said.

She giggled nervously. “You’re really crazy, Morgan,” she said. “Not too hard, okay?”

Not too hard? What not too hard? I hadn’t actually done anything yet except look at her, though I was close enough to her that the experience was—in addition to being visual–olfactory. But what on earth was she asking me to do gently?

“I believe you now,” she said.

I turned my gaze to her face. “Believe me?” I said.

“You’re not a tit man,” she said.

I ran my fingertips lightly down the backs of her legs, then back up to her thighs.

She moaned softly, then said, “Are you an Aquarius?”

What? Is this how men born in February behave?

The smell of her was driving me wild.

I started to unbutton my shirt.

Then she said, “Can you feel this moment, Morgan?”

I looked at her.

“This moment, right here, right now,” she said, peering around one knee, “is the very moment that all the great Zen mystics knew. This moment is the essence of existence. Satori.”

Damn if that wasn’t the truth …

Then I thought of Dusty and those leather straps that were torturing her.

“I’m going to bind you,” I said.

“I have rope in my bedroom,” she said so quickly I felt she was expecting me to say that at that moment. “I have handcuffs and ankle cuffs. Look in the bottom drawer of my nightstand.”

“I’m going to use belts,” I said. “And leather straps. Wait here. And hold that position.”

I went into the kitchen and quickly unbuckled the two belts that were strapped around Dusty’s midsection. I could feel her relief as each belt loosened. Then I went to work on the leather shoelaces, twice pricking my arm on one of Dusty’s needle-sharp thorns. As I got the last strap off of her, I looked at how she’d been cut and bruised.

I caressed her lightly, with just the tips of my fingers. “Time heals all wounds, Dusty,” I said softly, wondering if the scars from her bondage would ever really go away.

I knew I should get back to Megan quickly, but I felt I had to try and make a connection with Dusty once more, if only for a few seconds. I placed my fingertips on the same two large leaves that I’d touched before. I let my eyes go out of focus, then fall closed, as the tingling sensation moved from my fingers up my arms into my shoulders, neck and head. Then I pressed my fingers against her flesh solidly till the numbness left and an energy flowed between us.

Dusty, I said, I’ve removed the straps. I hope you feel better soon. If there’s anything else I can do for you—

Her response cut me off: GET ME OUT OF HERE!

Once more I opened my eyes and pulled my hands away from her quickly. I felt shaken.

I carried the belts and straps into the living room where Megan, half-risen, resumed holding her ankles, ass up, face down.

“I’m going to tip over if you don’t hurry,” she said.

I tossed the leather bindings onto the floor in front of her.

“At ease,” I said, as I plopped down on the couch.

“That’s it?” she said. “We’re done?”

“I’m not really dominant,” I said. “I don’t want to put the belts on you. To be honest, the only reason I suggested it was so I could take them off of Dusty.”

She stood up straight and put her hands on her hips in a motion that made her breasts bounce. “What the fuck?” she said. “Dominant doesn’t mean you have to tie me up. Not that I was opposed to that. But I thought you were coming over for sex?”

“I was, but I’m not really very kinky. My idea of sex is we both get naked in a bed and just fool around between the sheets and whatever happens is sex.”

“I can dig that. Sure. Absolutely. That works for me. But what’s with taking Dusty’s straps off?”

“She doesn’t like the straps. They’re cutting her.”

“She begged me to put those straps on her!”

“She begged me to take them off. I promised her I would do it when I was here this morning.”

“How long have you been talking with plants?”

“This is the first time ever. I have this crazy attraction to her. I thought it was an attraction to you, but it’s not. I feel like she’s … my soulmate.”

“Morgan, I’m going to be straight with you. I’m fairly certain you’re just like me, a plant trapped in a human body. You’ve paid no attention to plants your whole life because you don’t want to deal with it. But it’s who you are.”

“I’m a plant?”

“Are you even aware of the fact that plants are a superior life form to humans?”

“They are?”

“Morgan, it’s like you’ve been touched by the hand of God.”

“I have?”

“You’re a plant, Morgan. You were simply born in the wrong body.”

“I’m a plant?”

“Oh, Morgan, it’s so obvious to me. But this is the first time one of my plants made a play for one of my men.”

“She didn’t make a play for me.”

“I’m a woman, Morgan. I can see what’s happening here a lot clearer than you can. Dusty is actually a woman trapped in a plant’s body. She’s wanted to get her thorns into you from the moment you arrived.”

“No,” I said. “I don’t think so. She wasn’t paying any attention to me. I became aware of her pain and discomfort, and I saw how beautiful she was, and I couldn’t take my eyes off her. But it was me who pursued her, not the other way around. Now she thinks I’m her savior.”

“You realize, don’t you, that Dusty orchestrated this whole thing?”

“How so?”

“She manipulated me into tying her up, knowing that eventually some Prince Charming would offer to untie her, be the big hero, and she would trap him.”

“That sounds pretty far-fetched,” I said.

“You’re being used, Morgan. You have no idea how manipulative these cow horn agaves can be.”

“Let me have her, Megan.”

“Please, it’s Babs.”

“Let me have her, Babs. I’ll take good care of her. You know I will. I’ll take her home with me right now.”

“And we’re not even going to fuck? What about the bouillabaisse? Why did I go shopping? What kind of date is this?”

“Megan, I had every intention of fucking you when I came over. But I didn’t realize how deep my feelings for Dusty were. Now, things are different.” I lowered my voice to a whisper. “I don’t want Dusty to hear us fucking. It might upset her. I’ll call you next week. I need to have some time alone with her. We have some issues to work through.”

Megan stood up and walked across the room. She turned and faced me. “Take the bitch and go,” she said. “But be careful. You can’t always trust a cow horn agave.”

Go to Chapter Four

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