It was all coming together. Everything she had worked for, all the years of secret dreams
and fantasies, all the hidden aspirations and ambitions had come to fruition. Little Cara Jo
was now C.J. Ellison, published author. The last time she had felt this rush of adrenaline
had been the moment she held the signed publishing contract in her hands and stared at
it in amazement.
Now, as she slid into her chair behind the long table, it was all very real. She was part of
a writer’s panel. Her. Two years ago she had been one of the event’s attendees. A
hopeful writer and lover of this genre of storytelling. She’d been one of hundreds of
wouldbes and wannabes in a sea of painted and costumed faces at Atlanta, Georgia’s
science fiction/fantasy convention that drew people from all over the country. If anyone
knew how many old badges she had from this convention tucked in a drawer at home her
rating on the Geek-ometer would break the gage. And now she was on a panel with some
of the best known writers in the craft. As her nerves tied her stomach into knots, she
wasn’t sure whether to bless her agent or curse him.
It was the big room, the grand ballroom of all places. It would be easy to swell with pride
and ego except for one sad fact, or maybe it was a fortunate one. Anything she had to
say would be superfluous. In fact anything any of the writers on this panel said would be
virtually ignored. It was standing room only and they weren’t here to see them. They were
here to see Him. One of the other writers had said it clearly as they were shepherded into
place. When the conference staff had reminded them to speak into the microphones
placed before them he had laughed bitterly and remarked, “It doesn’t really matter if they
even turn these on. We could sit here, pick our noses and finger paint and no one would
notice while the sex god himself was here.”
And He was here. There were few women in the world of any generation who didn’t thrill
to the sound of his voice. Who didn’t entertain at least the briefest of fantasies about
what was beneath that crisp white shirt, open at the neck, and the jeans into which it
tucked. He’d taken the classic, shirt undone, bare chest peeking through look and made
it his own. After he first appeared on screen in the ensemble, no other man ever looked
as good in it. Even one of her lesbian friends had commented on him earlier today. “He’s
pretty, all right. I don’t exactly want to sleep with him, but I do like to look at him. And with
that voice he could talk to me all night.”
Cara sat in her place to the far right, the newest and least known of the group. He sat in
the middle along with the author whose stories he had been translating into action for a
few years now. And the show started. She was introduced and received a polite applause
as did everyone else. But when the questions began, it was crystal clear the other writer
had been right. These people were here to see Him.
She began doodling on the paper before her, drawing pictures and playing a word game
she often played when bored. It had started between her and her giggling girlfriends in
the back of a boring world history class in college. How many synonyms could she find
for… In honor of the man of the hour, and the ambitions of most of the women present,
she chose the word fuck. How many ways could she find to say fuck?
Being sure that the older woman sitting next to her couldn’t see the legal pad that had
been provided for her by the setup committee, she started jotting. Make love…have his
way…ravage…plunder… The longer the list got, the more crude it got.
Ride…fill…drive into…do…screw…bang…
Boredom numbing her brain, she was just about to hit an all time low when a particularly
wheezy voice that was faintly familiar caught her attention. The thin, balding man with
glasses that was standing at the microphone asking a question was a familiar face. He’d
been a regular at this convention and was a frequent volunteer on the track dedicated to
the legendary science fiction television and movie franchise that was so famous it need
not be named. A bad Scottish accent crying out, “I can’na give ya more power Cap’n”
was all that was needed for recognition. And that was one of the more obscure lines. He
was also an arrogant, know-it-all jerk. What idiot gave that asshole a microphone? She
brooded moodily. And since when is he into fantasy?
And damn, but the man just three places down the table from her was one to spark any
woman’s fantasy. She looked down, half listening as she contemplated her list. She
began to sketch absently in one corner.
“In the first installment of the series, the part that took place in space before your
character became a stranded rogue mage, we were introduced to the hand held photo-
plasma emitter. A friend of mine is an ex-cop and he says you handle your gun so
masterfully that you must have gotten a lot of training in handling hand held weapons. Did
you do any special training?”
This is your weapon, this is your gun. One is for shooting, the other for fun. The line
popped up from somewhere in the depths of her pop culture awareness and she bit down
hard on her lip to stop her giggle. Her eyes shifted to Him clandestinely when she thought
she heard a faint chuckle in his voice as he answered.
“No,” He drew the word out slowly. Cara stared at the yellow paper and listened to the
answer he gave. “I can only say that it’s important to be very familiar with any prop you’re
going to be using, especially a gun. You have to practice with it, hold it, let it take over
and guide the movements of your hand. If you aren’t comfortable with the feel of your own
gun, then you won’t be able to handle anyone else’s well.”
A nervous twitter fluttered across the ballroom. She’d love to see him handle his gun.
Staff…rod…lance…penis…length…manhood…cock…
She grinned quietly to herself. Oh, fantasies could be fun, a lot more fun than this. His
hands handling his cock…now that would be a sight. She looked down the table at the
hands that rested on the table. The white of the tablecloth blurred in her vision until all
she could see were those hands. Long fingered, strong hands…
and fantasies, all the hidden aspirations and ambitions had come to fruition. Little Cara Jo
was now C.J. Ellison, published author. The last time she had felt this rush of adrenaline
had been the moment she held the signed publishing contract in her hands and stared at
it in amazement.
Now, as she slid into her chair behind the long table, it was all very real. She was part of
a writer’s panel. Her. Two years ago she had been one of the event’s attendees. A
hopeful writer and lover of this genre of storytelling. She’d been one of hundreds of
wouldbes and wannabes in a sea of painted and costumed faces at Atlanta, Georgia’s
science fiction/fantasy convention that drew people from all over the country. If anyone
knew how many old badges she had from this convention tucked in a drawer at home her
rating on the Geek-ometer would break the gage. And now she was on a panel with some
of the best known writers in the craft. As her nerves tied her stomach into knots, she
wasn’t sure whether to bless her agent or curse him.
It was the big room, the grand ballroom of all places. It would be easy to swell with pride
and ego except for one sad fact, or maybe it was a fortunate one. Anything she had to
say would be superfluous. In fact anything any of the writers on this panel said would be
virtually ignored. It was standing room only and they weren’t here to see them. They were
here to see Him. One of the other writers had said it clearly as they were shepherded into
place. When the conference staff had reminded them to speak into the microphones
placed before them he had laughed bitterly and remarked, “It doesn’t really matter if they
even turn these on. We could sit here, pick our noses and finger paint and no one would
notice while the sex god himself was here.”
And He was here. There were few women in the world of any generation who didn’t thrill
to the sound of his voice. Who didn’t entertain at least the briefest of fantasies about
what was beneath that crisp white shirt, open at the neck, and the jeans into which it
tucked. He’d taken the classic, shirt undone, bare chest peeking through look and made
it his own. After he first appeared on screen in the ensemble, no other man ever looked
as good in it. Even one of her lesbian friends had commented on him earlier today. “He’s
pretty, all right. I don’t exactly want to sleep with him, but I do like to look at him. And with
that voice he could talk to me all night.”
Cara sat in her place to the far right, the newest and least known of the group. He sat in
the middle along with the author whose stories he had been translating into action for a
few years now. And the show started. She was introduced and received a polite applause
as did everyone else. But when the questions began, it was crystal clear the other writer
had been right. These people were here to see Him.
She began doodling on the paper before her, drawing pictures and playing a word game
she often played when bored. It had started between her and her giggling girlfriends in
the back of a boring world history class in college. How many synonyms could she find
for… In honor of the man of the hour, and the ambitions of most of the women present,
she chose the word fuck. How many ways could she find to say fuck?
Being sure that the older woman sitting next to her couldn’t see the legal pad that had
been provided for her by the setup committee, she started jotting. Make love…have his
way…ravage…plunder… The longer the list got, the more crude it got.
Ride…fill…drive into…do…screw…bang…
Boredom numbing her brain, she was just about to hit an all time low when a particularly
wheezy voice that was faintly familiar caught her attention. The thin, balding man with
glasses that was standing at the microphone asking a question was a familiar face. He’d
been a regular at this convention and was a frequent volunteer on the track dedicated to
the legendary science fiction television and movie franchise that was so famous it need
not be named. A bad Scottish accent crying out, “I can’na give ya more power Cap’n”
was all that was needed for recognition. And that was one of the more obscure lines. He
was also an arrogant, know-it-all jerk. What idiot gave that asshole a microphone? She
brooded moodily. And since when is he into fantasy?
And damn, but the man just three places down the table from her was one to spark any
woman’s fantasy. She looked down, half listening as she contemplated her list. She
began to sketch absently in one corner.
“In the first installment of the series, the part that took place in space before your
character became a stranded rogue mage, we were introduced to the hand held photo-
plasma emitter. A friend of mine is an ex-cop and he says you handle your gun so
masterfully that you must have gotten a lot of training in handling hand held weapons. Did
you do any special training?”
This is your weapon, this is your gun. One is for shooting, the other for fun. The line
popped up from somewhere in the depths of her pop culture awareness and she bit down
hard on her lip to stop her giggle. Her eyes shifted to Him clandestinely when she thought
she heard a faint chuckle in his voice as he answered.
“No,” He drew the word out slowly. Cara stared at the yellow paper and listened to the
answer he gave. “I can only say that it’s important to be very familiar with any prop you’re
going to be using, especially a gun. You have to practice with it, hold it, let it take over
and guide the movements of your hand. If you aren’t comfortable with the feel of your own
gun, then you won’t be able to handle anyone else’s well.”
A nervous twitter fluttered across the ballroom. She’d love to see him handle his gun.
Staff…rod…lance…penis…length…manhood…cock…
She grinned quietly to herself. Oh, fantasies could be fun, a lot more fun than this. His
hands handling his cock…now that would be a sight. She looked down the table at the
hands that rested on the table. The white of the tablecloth blurred in her vision until all
she could see were those hands. Long fingered, strong hands…
| Seeing Me Available from from Ellora's Cave |
 |  |  |  |  |
| This story is an Ellora's Cave Quickie™ and by definition is very hot and very adult. Some may find the excerpt below to be objectionable. If so... don't read it! |
