Perfect
by Jack Lennox

* * * * * * *

He stood peering into the open door of the refrigerator, bleary-eyed and vaguely aware that it was late afternoon. Reaching for a coke, the supplementing of caffeine in his system was a stronger motivation for him than the quenching of his thirst. He managed to grab the can but had to wipe at his eyes with his free hand to clear his vision. His eyesight would recover quickly, but the weeks of long hours staring at his computer screen, feverishly performing the thousands of procedures needed, had left him in a state of mental exhaustion. However, his work, for the time being, was done. All the tests and samples had met with his satisfaction. Everything was now in place, the setup complete, and he could then only wait for the machine to carry out his myriad instructions.

Taking a long swig from the opened can, it occurred to him that he could use some fresh air. He walked out onto a wooden deck and stared down into the brush-covered ravine over which his house squatted precariously. It wasn't the first time it made him think about living on the edge. The light was waning, and the landscape looked haunted and gray. He could have been perched on the cliffs of an uninhabited island plummeting to a tempestuous sea. He stretched, the muscles in his neck cramped, his arms a little sore from hours of restricted movement. Gulping down the last of his drink, he tried to remember if he had even been out on the deck since she had left. Maybe not. He crumpled the can in his fist, one of his small pleasures, and looked for a place to toss it. A box of gardening paraphernalia sitting against the house made for a suitable target and, next to it, something that made his heart ache. Set side-by-side on wooden planks, two flat sandals seemed to be waiting for their owner to step into them. In a way, he envied their patience, but then they didn't know she would not likely be coming. He also wanted to know how long it would be before he stopped finding things she had left behind. He really did not want to think of her in those shoes, working in the garden, a pretty wife making their home a little more beautiful. He picked them up. They were heavier than expected - hard soles - but not nearly as hard as he had made his heart. Striding back to the deck's railing, with all of his strength, he threw them over the edge. He heard a small clatter or two as they fell into the ravine.

* * * * * * *

What he really needed was some sleep. He lay on his back in bed, but his head was too full of ideas. He had checked the computer and was very happy with the results. Lately, his enthusiasm for living had taken great leaps forward. When his wife had left him, he had known only despair, but then his Angel had come to save him. Often things work out that way...a terrible loss makes possible an even more wonderful gain. He had spotted her at the grocery store, of all places, and knew that he had to have her, and it turned out that finding her was his salvation. She was so beautiful. When Angel moved in with him, it was easy to forget Sheila. Angel was the kind of woman dreams are made of.

He thought he heard water running. He imagined her in the shower. That young and salubrious woman's body... nude... glistening with wet. Angel bathed herself -- her lathered hands slippery -- caressing everywhere he wanted to caress, her fingers dipping between her legs to play in a place where he wanted to play. She turned and, in his mind, he saw her firm fleshy bottom still reddened where he had spanked it that afternoon. She had come to him in the middle of the bright day, unabashedly naked, a deliciously wanton temptress needing his attention. Her skin was cool and smooth as she rubbed against him and her open mouth was aggressive. She needed a real man, and begged him to give her the spanking she deserved, to make her his obedient slave. She had submitted across his knee in unconditional supplication, offering her tender nates to his absolute authority, her upturned bottom two perfect soft hillocks tempting his fiery passion. He could still hear her ragged breath, her docile whimper, see her body writhing, legs and feet kicking as he showed her that whether he used his mouth, his cock, or the hard palm of his hand, he could always take her just where she needed to go.

The thought of her always made him hard, and his hand sought relief. She emerged from her shower right on cue, asking if that beautiful hunk of meat was for her. It was always for her, he assured her. It was only for her. She was naked, and she was on top of him... the full weight of her silky bare breasts flattened against his chest, the smell of her skin intoxicating. Her kisses were the sweetest he had ever tasted, and she told him to stay right where he was - she would take care of everything. She would always be there, and there, and there, and with his manhood in her delicate hands, her mouth was perfectly warm, perfectly wet, and she knew exactly how he liked it.

* * * * * * *

Later, after his own shower, he was seated again in front of his computer. Pixel by pixel, the new scene he had created was coming to fruition before his eyes. He watched... waited. Hair and skin, tile and wood, the soft matte of fabric and hard shine of glass... each contour faithfully rendered, the computer grinding its way through millions of calculations. A girl... no, a woman... standing against a tiled bathroom wall, fresh from her bath. Could her rich brown hair be piled more prettily on top of her head? Could her mendicant eyes be more seductive, her generous mouth more inviting? Could the voluptuous curves of her heavenly body possibly fuel with more desperation his lust for her? He thought not.

She came and sat on his lap, exclaimed. "It looks just like me." She giggled, and he giggled with her. He told her that he had created her inside the computer -- a three-dimensional model that he could place in any scene he chose, could pose any way he wished. "But shouldn't my reflection be shown in the mirror?" she asked. She was also a clever and observant girl. He laughed. She needed to be more patient. He explained that the computer renders reflections last and that tracing their light posed the most complex mathematical challenge. Sure enough, the towel object around his labor of love's neck began to appear, then strands of thick dark hair, and finally patches of gloriously radiant and supple flesh. He was rather proud of his masterpiece, especially at how he had managed to capture the face of his Angel. It represented not only the beauty that could seduce him, but also a countenance he could trust. Her large dark liquid eyes looked only at *him*, wanting *him*, needing *him*. She truly was his. He had finally found the woman who could make him happy.

And so the screen transmitted his virtual reality but on its glowing face, faintly reflected, a second image... the bright ghosts of a lonely room, and the creator staring with a deep longing at his perfect creation.