Chapter 3: Butterfly

In which our hero works some things out, and our heroine takes charge. In a symbyotic relationship, unlike a parasitical one, the host can gain as much as the vector.

19.14 Saturday 3rd July 2004

I've been doing some research, and I have to note this down.

Photo albums. I've looked through the old photos of both of us, and it is NOT just that I am seeing her properly for the first time. I look at the picture and I look at her, asleep, and she has really changed. In the pictures, she used to be... okay, but fairly ordinary. You know, good old Celia. Now she is just stunning. As for me, I look in the mirror, and again, I have changed too. I can't put my finger on it, but frankly now I'm pretty cool. That's Number 1.

I went out and bought an anatomy book, a text book on the human body. It's actually a school revision book, for "A" levels in think, but it's really interesting. I never knew half of how we are put together - they ought to make everyone learn this. But I have been looking for certain things in particular.

My cock. That's Number 2. I have been reading this log just to check on what has happened since, you know what, and sure enough I got stiff. So I got out the tape measure and, on the top, from the join to the tip is fifteen inches. The book says range five to eight, median six, star turn nine. So what's with this monster?

Number 3. Blue. Nowhere does it mention any thing about the colour of bodily fluids, but I know blue should not be on the menu. The juice from her cunt, my spunk... I've just licked a piece of white paper to check my own saliva. Not strong, not like my cum, but the wet patch has a clear blue tinge.

Number 4. The clincher. The diagrams of a woman's parts are pretty fascinating. What comes across is that not much of it is designed to give us pleasure. Sorry guys. Most of it is to do with making babies. Making babies is such an extraordinary thing that I don't suppose this should surprise me. Now I've worked it out, it's clear that last time, the head of my cock ended up buried right in Celia's uterus, her womb. That's what felt so good. Her cervix was what was gripping me. It's also clear that it's completely impossible. The angle's wrong, the shape's wrong, and finally that's what the cervix is there for - to keep out nasty foreign objects like my prick. So how? And why no damage?

And the answer is... Ariel. It has to be. I mean two weirdly supernatural things like this must be linked.

Strange to say, I have hardly thought about her today. I feel quite disloyal, but now the whole thing with her seems like a dream. I had to re-read this log to remember all the details, and I just cannot bring back the way I used to feel about her. I guess that's how I feel about Celia, now instead.

But reading it makes it clear. She knew what was going to happen when we finally actually did it. She knew it, and went ahead any way. She knew what would happen to her body, and it was her idea for us to eat it. So that's the trigger, whatever was in that blue glass statuette was what started these changes. That's WHAT happened. But why?

10.22 Sunday 4th July 2004

I decided to come clean with Celia. Partly because I think she ought to know, I mean she must be wondering about all this weird shit; partly in case it's dangerous, but mostly because I love her. This is too big, and I want us to share everything from now on. Our new life starts here.

Of course it did not go as I had planned. When I got back to the bedroom last night she had changed into a simple grey skirt and white top, and was looking pretty hot. (Actually I don't think there is anything in her wardrobe she couldn't make look hot.) She kept the blue shirt dress, she explained with big sad eyes, just in case there was another time I felt like ripping her clothes off and raping her. I felt terrible and started apologising before I caught her wicked grin.

"You little... " I cried and grabbed for her, while she rolled around on the bed gurgling with laughter and delight. When the romp and the making out that followed was threatening to turn into something a little hotter, I called a halt. "Look, we have to talk."

She stopped, sighed, and sat next to me, gazing into my eyes.

"All this stuff that's been happening to us, well, it's not just you and me." I started.

"Well of course not, you lunk," she interrupted, and then went on in a serious tone. "Look, Mike, I didn't like all the hours you used to spend in your den on the computer. I sure didn't like what I learnt last night about your chat room girl friend and your cybersex. But if she's... if she really is dead, then I forgive her and I forgive you. You were pretty cut up about it but even you must realise that if she did commit suicide, it was NOT your fault." She stared at me, hard. "Okay?"

"Yes, but I didn't say... I mean she did, but it's not" I started but she steam-rollered over me.

"And if the drugs in that little present she sent us really were meant for you and me, as a couple, to get us together like this, then I forgive her anything. I hope she IS still alive, and if not, I hope her soul is happy."

I gazed back at her for a week or two before the power of speech returned. Here was I being so clever working it out, where Celia just spotted the link immediately. "But what about the changes. Haven't you noticed, we are actually physically different?"

"Well, of course. Silly boy. You think a girl never looks in the mirror?" She got up and stood in front of the full length mirror on the old Victorian wardrobe. She stroked her top over her high round breasts (no bra, I could not help noticing), and swung her hips to make the pleated skirt swing and ride up on her thighs. "God, I would forgive anything to the person who did this for me." She turned and grinned at me. "And who remembered to zap you so you actually noticed." She danced towards me on those long, long legs, chuckling, hips swinging that skirt at each step. "And, I may be innocent in these things, but even I know that a weapon like you're packing these days is NOT natural."

Before I could stop her, she was on her knees in front of me, tugging my belt buckle free. "But aren't you worried? We don't know what's going to happen next!" I protested weakly, as she jerked my trousers and pants down, freeing the beast.

She stopped for a second, and gazed up at me, big blues eyes shining. "Honey, I love you. The day before yesterday I was desperately worried I was going to lose you. Whatever is happening here, I am so grateful, so happy." She returned to the business in hand. "And I'm determined to enjoy it before it all disappears like a dream!" Before I could say another thing she won the argument by wrapping her lips around the shiny end, and her hands around the base. God, she hadn't forgotten anything since the morning.

It was after four or five minutes of this bliss, that she showed what she was capable of. She took first one, then the other hand away and put them behind her back. Then, jerk by jerk, she impaled herself on my cock, forcing it down her throat until her nose was pressed against my lower belly. I couldn't believe it was happening. I couldn't believe the feeling. There was a resistance, and then suddenly my prick head was through it, and was being clutched by something tight and vibrating, inside her. I was touching her hair and her face, and in disbelief I gingerly felt her neck. The bulge of my prick head was clear in her throat, moving down and down while she thrust herself onto me. God, it was way down near her collar bone. I just exploded, and felt the pulsing under my fingers as load after load of spunk squirted down her neck, straight into her stomach, while her body shook with the spasms of her own orgasm.

It took me a moment to recover my senses, but as soon as I had, I dragged my softening prick out of her. It seemed to be pulling out from her lips for ever, and as soon as it was clear she gave a great gasp and sucked in air as if she had been under water. Of course, how could she have breathed? Really concerned, I gathered her up in my arms, and we collapsed back onto the bed together. However, after a couple of deep breaths she turned to me on one elbow and beamed, seemingly none the worse for wear.

"Did you see me?" she said proudly, still panting, in an amazing husky voice. "Proper deep throat. I can do it!"

"You sure can" I replied, amazed. "Are you sure you are all right?"

"Oh, yes. Well, maybe a bit sore in my throat." she husked, still sounding like Eartha Kit. "But, you know, it's just a question of overriding the gag reflex. And I came at the same time as you did! As soon as you started to pump into me. What do you think of your sexy wife now!"

That's the trouble. Now I have no idea what to think.

I looked it up. Human throat. Guess what, even if it feels like it, the man's cock doesn't really go down the girl's neck. It's too narrow, the wrong shape, the wrong angle, and the phalanx would get in the way. So why was my dick reaching down to her collar bone? Even though it's big enough to reach, I must have been half way down her oesophagus. No wonder she couldn't breath. So that's, what, Number 5?

And, have you noticed that yet again we came together. Even with a blow job, really deep in her neck where there can't possibly be any nerve endings or whatever trips a girl's trigger. Number 6 is - I come, it makes her come.

I wonder if it works in reverse.

23.56 Sunday 4th July 2004

I have decided to take a leaf out of Celia's book, and just go with the flow. I can't pretend to understand what is happening, but what can I do? Trot along to the local hospital and ask if they have any specialists on impossible body penetrations? Sure. The more I think about it, the more I realise we should keep all this very quiet. And in the mean time, I'm going to lie back and enjoy the show.

Which is just as well, because when we went to bed tonight, she pulled another one on me. We were getting ready for bed, or at least I was, while she got in my way trying on all her night wear in different combinations to see what was going to be the most difficult for me to ignore. The winner seemed to be a boring pyjama top of mine that had lost its buttons, got shrunk in the wash, and had been put out to be a cleaning cloth. Until she wore it, tails tied together under her breasts, with nothing else. How come a piece of clothing makes her MORE naked? She was bad enough simply nude, but now... She danced just out of reach, with her back to me, winking over her shoulder, as if the silly top actually clothed her while her bottom and long legs oscillated beneath. I reached out to grab her thighs and softly took the round soft flesh of her left butt in my mouth.

"Mmmmm. You want some arse, tiger?" she growled. "Then come and take some!" Before you could shake a tail she was on the bed on all fours, beautiful legs apart, breasts swinging, looking over her shoulder at me with such a hungry expression that I almost came when I caught her eye. Where did she learn to shake her bottom like that! I licked her rosebud asshole without even thinking of it (mint flavour?!) and noticed that blue tinge again. I lined him up, but hesitated. My prick looked enormous. Did this really fit in here yesterday morning? Wasn't this going to hurt her? "Oh go on" she groaned, and dropping her face and shoulders down onto the bed reached behind with both hands and pulled her ass cheeks apart. As she stretched it all to display the bud of the opening it seemed to swell and ripen so invitingly. With my thumb I spread more of the strangely blue saliva around and into it, revelling in the slick feeling of the opening and the stretched slippery skin around it. I lined up the head of my cock, pushed down, and was in.

Wow. Straight past the tight ring, and she didn't stop. She pushed back against me, egged me on, begged for more, and, unlike last time, it just kept going in. It was pretty good. I won't go into details, but amazingly it was as if we both knew what we were doing. She took all of me, pushing back against me until each resistance was overcome, and I ended up with my belly tight on her luscious buttocks, feeling as if my prick was about to emerge near her belly button. It took only a few touches around her clit to set off the old chain reaction, and I pumped stuff into her for so long it felt like it should have been coming out of her ears.

Number 7. The human rectum is about five inches long when full. I was in Celia all the way. Looking at the cross section in the book, I don't think I was imagining pushing against her belly button. I bet I really was. With my fifteen inches I should have been making dents in the bed. So what happened to all the stuff in-between? What is happening in her body?

09.38 Monday 5th July 2004

I've decided to call in sick today. Well if I am not sick I am certainly not my usual self!

We woke late this morning. But not together - I was woken up by the sensation of soft lips carefully engulfing the end of my tool. It seems she had stirred first, and the sight of my "morning" erection was too much to resist so she decided to return yesterday morning's favour. I was in no position to complain, flat on my back and barely able to think for the feeling in my cock. However when she disengaged only to climb over me and carefully lined herself up over it, I started to get worried.

"Hush, honey" she shushed me. "That blue magic... huh... has it covered... ahhh... you're so sweet... huh... to worry but... huh... I think my insides will... ahhhh... take anything now... huh... huh..." and with each breath she worked herself further down until she was sitting on my hips with the whole thing buried inside her and a grin like the cat who got the canary.

God, the sight of her sitting, on display, on my tummy with my thing swallowed inside her. The feel of her, all within reach and waiting for me, her pretty grimacing face, her round shoulders, her soft hot nippled breasts, her flat toned stomach. There was a dent in her stomach, just above her belly button, moving as we moved, and I knew what it was. I reached out to push it gently and I could FEEL my push with head of my knob. I came immediately, and of course, she was hot on my heels.

Wow. How can I complain? Talk about gift horses. But I worry about her. I mean, if I was in her womb before, where was I now? If I was to hurt her I couldn't bear it. Maybe I should ask her - she always was the only sensible one in this marriage.

Don't get me wrong, I am so pleased to have her like this and I know we're so lucky. But I just don't get all this shit. It's not quite believable, and now I am beginning to get a little bit... frightened.

10.25 Monday 5th July 2004

This is Celia. Mike said he had something to explain, and then he brought me in here, and showed me, on his computer. This log. I have read it all. I have sent him off to work. He has to do something normal, to stop him from worrying so much. Me, I do not work on Mondays, which is often useful. If nothing else, I get a day to catch up on the mess he makes over a weekend.

I should say that I cannot believe it. But the strange thing is that I can, I do. I had been in some sort of denial up to now. This thing with him and me since we ate that little glass figurine, has been so great that I have not dared think, not dared question anything. But incredible as it seems, now it all hangs together.

Of course his stuff in the log is hopeless. Trust a man. All that stuff about the sex. I can hardly read it - it is worse than a Mills and Boon novel (which, by the way, I do NOT read) - and he left out all the facts, the interesting things. There is no proper observation, no system, no record of this amazing experience that would be any use to a proper scientist. These changes that are happening to us could be really important. So I have insisted that I am going to keep this journal from now on.