I was having a bad day. My startup company had folded, I was in debt for a fortune, I couldn't even get a decent job and my girl had gone off with a doctor -- a female doctor.

I'd been flying high for a while, a very little while, and now I was right back where I'd started from. Which meant that the only chance I got to meet great looking women was inside the pages of girlie mags. It's true, what you've never had you never miss, but believe me, what you've had and lost you really mourn for. And I as I looked at all those horny chicks I felt as mournful as a grounded hawk.

A feeling which wasn't improved by checking out all the double cool females inside the covers of the magazine and wondering who the lucky dudes were who were screwing them. Apart from also wondering why I hadn't gone for a nice safe career in the magazine business instead of getting involved in high tech stock market floats: soft bodies are more fun than software and usually a lot easier to sell. Well, unless your name is Bill Gates, I guess.

And then it happened. I could have sworn I was alone in the apartment, the door locked, everything. Until the mag was snatched out of my hands.

I nearly had an heart attack, then looked up to see who was there and every one of my vital organs did go offline for about a second due to pure shock. Because the girl who was standing beside the couch could have stepped straight in amongst the bevy of lust arousing models on the glossy pages and been at home as a flea on a hound dog.

We are talking long blonde hair, a face that would have knocked any king ever sideways off his throne, and a drop dead figure with perky little boobs, all wrapped up -- OK, barely covered -- by "Hey, man, it's like honeymoon time" lingerie.

Maybe there are guys who know exactly how to behave when a living doll like this suddenly steps into their life in her stockings, suspender belt and high heeled shoes. I'm not one of them. I lay there with my arm stuck up in the air like I was pretending to be the statute of liberty and I didn't move a muscle. I didn't even speak, I just kind of quietly spasmed. My heart was back in action and an Indie driver was pumping the gas into it faster than I could burn it.

"Hi, Rand, nice to meet you," she said, and I still gaped at her like it was Independence Day and the earth's skies had been invaded by flying pizzas the size of cities.

"Who -- who are you?" I don't know how it came across to her but I hadn't sounded that squeaky since I was in junior school.

"I'm Chloe, and I'm the best thing that's ever happened to you."

"Where did you come from?"

"Rand, that's like asking where the rainbow comes from. By the time you've finished asking the question, it's gone. Do you want me to go?"

However confused I was about everything else, at least I knew the answer to that question: "Hell, no, I don't want you to go."

"Can I sit down?"

"Sure, surely." I gabbled. It wasn't Independence Day, it was Thanksgiving, and I didn't know whether I was the turkey or the farmer.

She -- Chloe -- she sat down on the couch and spread herself out on top of me, with a hand stroking the inside of my left leg. About the only thing which anybody could have dropped on me which might have felt better would have been a million dollars, and right then I wouldn't even have been sure about that.

Hell, I wasn't even sure I hadn't somehow overdosed on something, but when I gently stroked her long blonde hair she didn't disappear. Not only did she seem real, she felt real. And I think maybe it's not too crazy to say that what was even better, she smelt real.

"You're not a dream?"

"I can be anything you want me to be, Rand. Would you like me to be a dream? Just shut your eyes and when you open them again, I'll be gone."

"Then I'm not even going to blink -- but . . ? "

"If you're still don't know whether I'm real or not, Rand, why don't you let your fingers do the talking?"

Even in the craziest of situations there are arguments that are so good you go straight along with them. I reached out with my fingertip and brushed it as gently as a falling dust mote against her stocking clad leg.

If there's anything else in the world that has the same combination of smoothness and heat as female flesh under silk, I wouldn't know what it is. And if there is anything else like that, I sure bet it doesn't feel so good to touch.

"OK, Rand, I can feel you, so can you feel me?"

"I can feel you, Chloe. I also feel like Doctor Frankenstein after the lightning struck."

She giggled: "That's one lousy comment to make to a lady. Do you think I'm that ugly."

I felt like biting my tongue off: "Chloe, no, no, I think you're beautiful! You're fantastic!"

"OK, you're forgiven. You want to keep on touch testing, Rand?"

Only about as much as I wanted to go on breathing. Or maybe a little bit more. This time I tried higher up her body -- way higher, on the top of one of her bra cups. Her leg might have felt fine but for sheer tactile feedback there's nothing like a tit. Especially when its owner is enjoying the stroking every bit as much as you are.

"Well, am I real, Rand?"

"I guess all I know for sure is that if you're virtual reality, and I can figure a way of putting you on the internet, I'm gonna buy California and Wall Street."

She made a tiny little ladylike snort of derision: "Virtual reality? Put your finger out and we'll give it the ultimate reality test."

I can't say she confused me, because a man couldn't be more confused than I already was, but it took a while before I realized what she wanted. Then I did hold my finger up for her, and Chloe put it in her mouth and gently drew on it as if it were a Cuban cigar.

She was so right, it was the ultimate reality check. There's no way anybody is ever put a feeling like digital sucking into a digital format. It also happened to be a turn on that had me shivering with excitement. Up until then I'd been so shocked by her sudden appearance that I hadn't really taken in what she was. Now all I could think of was that even if she'd popped up out of hell she was the sexiest little motherfucker of a demon I could imagine. Not only would I be happy to sell her my soul to get on top of her, I'd throw in my visa card as well.

"Uh, Chloe."

Her lips slid off my finger with a final flick of a tongue that had my cock reaching for the sky: "Yes, Rand."

"Could I kind of loosen something there for you?"

"Rand, darling, I'm here to be whatever you want me to be and do whatever you want me to do. All you have to do is to say the words."

Disbelievingly, unbelievingly, as stunned as a billion to one lottery winner, I tugged at a bow at the top of her teddy and watched the scarlet material open up like the red sea to let the true believers have free passage. Like the Israelites, I was also beginning to feel like my guardian angel had finally gotten back on my case after one hell of a long vacation.

"Do you like what you see, Rand?"

Somehow, somebody had pushed a pool ball down my throat. "It looks like the promised land," I croaked as we both looked at an exposed breast as though it was a work of art. Well, it sure was as far as I was concerned. A side order of heaven with a tight little cherry on the top.

"My turn now."

"Uh!"

Conversation wise, I was doing about as well as a mentally retarded parrot. But there's something about having a beautiful girl pulling down your pants which slows down certain parts of your nervous system and sends sparks through the rest of a guy's neurons. Especially when you've known the girl seeking carnal knowledge of you about as long as it takes to boil an egg.

It suddenly occurred to me that maybe I'd had an heart attack or something already and died on the couch. Maybe this was the after life and it only looked like my apartment and Chloe was an angel sent as a kind of meeter and greeter. It didn't seem like a bad theory but if I was right, and this was how they behaved in heaven, there were going to be some real surprised church leaders by and by, including the Pope and Billy Graham.

Naw, the one thing every religion on earth I'd ever agreed on was that God had no use for any kind of fun: if this was really the afterlife I was down below in the coal cellar and loving every minute of it so far.

The next minute didn't disappoint either because Chloe knelt down in front of me, slid her hands between my legs and took each of my balls in her palms as gently if she was stealing eggs from underneath a sleeping chicken. My calf muscles seemed to go as stiff as my cock as I tweaked the tips of her taut little boobs like they were channel selectors and I was looking for the best show around.

It seemed like I'd already got it anyway because having foreplay with Chloe felt like I was caddying for Tiger Woods. I'd do the heavy work but when it came to the finer strokes of sexual technique I'd just have to stand by and watch an expert at work. Where in the name of Middle Earth had she come from and was there any chance at all of getting her to stay around?

"Rand, why don't you help me take my top off?"

"Sure, sure."

Again, it seemed like such a great idea I wondered why I hadn't done it without being told to. But how come she knew my name when I knew her about as well as I knew Cleopatra?

And how come she was stroking my chest with her fingertips like I was Tom Cruise and she was the president of his fan club? Was she at the wrong apartment, had she gotten me confused with somebody who was somebody?

And why the hell was I worrying about things like that right now?

Well, the reason I was worrying about it was because when you're making love to a normal kind of girl you don't have to worry about her suddenly disappearing into a puff of smoke or turning into something with scales from the seventh circle of the pit, or taking off over the rooftops like Mary Poppins.

But even with a girl who may do any of those things what you can do while you're waiting is to pull her down into your lap and nibble at her nipples. It's the second best way of persuading her to stick around. And maybe this time I could get ahead of the game by suggesting the first best way of getting her in the mood for a real party.

"Chloe, how about I give you some tongue work?"

"Maybe you should sit me down on the couch, open my legs and see if I smile at you -- maybe that'll be a good clue."

So I did, and she did, and it was.

I went at her pussy like an ant eater going after double rations but to tell the truth, there was more effort than inspiration about it. I guess as good as the average guy at giving head but I couldn't claim I was giving my best performance right then. As crazy as it sounds, I was trying to remember if I'd brought home any old bottles or lamps recently. It's strange how long some of those old TV shows can stick with you. The only difference was that, unlike Major goodie shoes Nelson, if I'd gotten a good looking female genie I'd screw her so hard and so often that she'd end up needing a corkscrew to get in and out of her bottle.

Chloe had been laughing when I first began but as I zeroed in on her clit with an appetite that matched a starving cat at a dish of cream she'd started gasping, then gently moaning.

I sneaked a look up at her face and nearly stopped what I was doing. Just for a second there, by some trick of the light, her face glowing with inner pleasure, Chloe did look like a genie might look. Well, if Barbara Eden was any guide anyway. And then I decided I'd better try and hold onto whatever shreds of sanity I still had left. But whether I was sane or mad, she was a beautiful and desirable woman, I knew that much for certain and I wanted to fuck her until I wasn't fit for anything but hibernation.

Then her eyes opened and stared deeply into mine: "You're a nice guy, Rand."

"How do you know that?"

"I wouldn't be here if you weren't a nice guy."

I couldn't make any sense out of that and, anyway, it really wasn't polite to talk with my mouth full. But I kept looking up and saw Chloe smiling at me that women sometimes do when they're looking at somebody they're really fond of. Her fingernails scratched playfully against my shoulders. This was a hell of a relationship, the best I'd ever been in, and only five minutes old!

"My turn again, Rand," she said.

"What?"

"It's your turn to lie on the couch while I give your cock a hand job and then try to suck your brains out through the end of it. But only if you want me to, of course."

I took a quick decision that I could probably live with that kind of treatment and lay back on the sofa as Chloe deftly finished stripping me. Then she knelt down beside me.

END OF PART ONE

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