HER GUARDIAN ANGEL

By J.G.E. POWERS

The first time she saw him she almost laughed. He was
roly-poly, and wide-eyed, as if he was seeing the world for
the first time. An image of the Pillsbury Dough Boy popped
into her head and she chuckled all the way to work.

The second time she saw him was in her office parking
lot and that surprised her; first because she had never seen
him there before and second, because she had driven very
fast, as usual, and he didn’t even seem to have a car.

The third time she saw him was back at her apartment
parking lot, after work. This time she was frightened. He
was standing just a few feet away from her reserved parking
spot and her front door. He still had that stupid look of
amazement on his face, but she knew from experience that the
world was full of weirdos, and this was probably one of them.

She got her can of chemical Mace out, checked that it was in
working order, then waited for the DoughBoy to move. He
didn’t. He just stood there, lightly bouncing on his feet,
like he had to go to the bathroom; that same silly look on
his face. She judged the distance from the car to her front
door. Ten, twelve feet at the most. The DoughBoy was about
twenty to her right. He would be blocked by three cars and a
hedge. She got her key out, opened the car door and dashed
for her apartment.

“Hi, there!”

“Wha . . .?” she yelped in surprise. The doughboy was
right by her side – at the door! Suddenly startled, and
genuinely scared, she dropped her keys; her back flush
against her door. How did he get here so fast?

The Pillsbury Dough Boy smiled inanely at her. “Hi,” he
said again.

She fumbled for the Mace can, almost dropping that too.

“Don’t come near me!” she ordered, the Mace pointed
directly at him. “Keep away from me. I’ll scream!”

His pudgy eyes blinked rapidly at her; his face a mask
of incomprehension. He snapped his fingers and suddenly they
were in the middle of her living room.

“Oh my God! How . . . what happened?” she asked aloud
in a scared and shrill voice. The door was still locked and
bolted from the inside. The windows were still closed.

“What’s the matter?” he asked pleasantly.

“The . . . the door,” she stuttered, “How did we get by
the door? What did you do? Who are you? Don’t come near
me!” She pointed the Mace can at him again. He extended his
hand, index finger pointed and she felt her grip on the Mace
can begin to loosen. She squeezed harder, gripping it with
both hands but couldn’t hold on to it. Her fingers came
loose and she gaped in disbelief as the Mace can floated
free, across the room and settled in Doughboy’s chubby hand.

She stood there, transfixed, eyes wide and staring. It
was a full five seconds before she found her voice. “Who are
you?” she said, softly.

“I’m Hubert. Your Guardian Angel!”

Oh, God, a fruit loop! I’m locked in with a loony!

“Don’t be frightened,” he said as he watched her eyes
search desperately for a way out, “I’m not going to hurt
you. I’m here to help you.”

“This is a trick, right? You’ve hypnotized me, or
something. This isn’t happening.” She had backed herself up
against the living room wall. There was no where else to go.

“Trick? This is no trick. I really am your Guardian
Angel.”

“Oh, Christ!” she wailed.

“Please, lets not get blasphemous.” he said in a hurt
tone, then asked in wonder, “Are you scared of me?”

“Oh, no! People make cans float in the air all the
time. Going through walls is an everyday event. What the
hell do you think?” she screamed at him, on the verge of
hysteria.

“Please forgive me,” he said, in that soft cherubic
voice of his, “They were such small things, I didn’t think
they would frighten you. Please sit down. I really don’t
mean you any harm.”

She realized that she was over her initial panic; her
breathing almost normal now. Slowly, cautiously she sat on
the sofa. “You sit over there,” she said. It was an order.

“Thank you,” he said politely. “Let’s start over again.
My name is Hubert and I’m your Guardian Angel.”

“You said that already. What’s this all about?”

“Oh, yes, dear me. I should have explained that right
away. You see, we discovered that there’s been a terrible
oversight made. You are not what you’re supposed to be.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“Well,” he continued, “we found out that you were
destined to be a world famous courtesan, and somehow,
through an inexcusable mistake, you were never given the
right . . . guidance, so I’m here to help you make up for the
last twenty years, and, of course, to offer our deepest
apologies.”

I knew it, she thought, a fruit loop! “I’m supposed to
be a courtesan? Me? Isn’t that somebody who . . .”

“Gives pleasure to all she meets,” he finished for her.

This is a huge practical joke she told herself. Any
minute someone is going to leap out of the closet and yell,
“Smile, You’re on Candid Camera.” This just couldn’t be
happening to an over forty woman who was fighting the battle
of the bulge, and owed her hair color to Miss Clarol. She
wondered how they did the special effects, but despite
herself, she was intrigued.

“A courtesan, right? A happy hooker? The people up
there” – she pointed her finger up towards the ceiling –
“want me to . . . go to bed with men? To . . . screw?”

He looked at the direction of her finger, uncomprehen-
ding. Then a smile lit his chubby face. “Oh, no, you mis-
understand me,” he said, “Those people have nothing to do
with this.”

“You said you’re my Guardian Angel.”

“That’s true, but I come from . . .” his finger pointed
toward the floor . . . “there!”

“From Hell?”

“We don’t call it that,” he said quickly, in defense.
“It’s really like Los Angeles, and up there . . . ” he made a
face, “is like Burbank. We just live life to the fullest.”

She stared at him incredulously. “You’re nuts! You’re
a bonified loony-toon, and I want you out of here. Now!”

He jumped up, a look of distress on his face. “Oh,
please, don’t do that. This is my first really big assign-
ment. Please, let me show you.” He snapped his fingers and a
large book appeared in his hand.

“Stop doing that!” she yelled.

“Here we are. See! The book says that at thirteen you
have your first sexual experience. By seventeen you have
seduced the entire football team of your high school, and
several male teachers. And one female teacher, too. By the
time you are twenty-five you should’ve had sex with over a
thousand men and women, bringing joy and light to their
lives. In fact, at this point of your life you should have
changed the morals of almost the entire country.”

“Let me see that.”

He held up the book for her to see. It was ornate.
Parchment, she thought. Very elaborate. Someone had gone
though a lot of trouble. Okay, she thought, I’ll play
along. “So what happened? How come I ended up Miss Goody
two-shoes?”

“Somebody made a mistake,” he said contritely. “But
I’m here to make amends and get you back on the right track
so you can fulfill your destiny.”

Suddenly she was angry and embarrassed. “Listen to me,
Hubert, Asshole, or whatever your name is. I’m forty-two
years old, frumpy, and I’ve had sex three times in my life.
Each time was worse than the other. I’m damn near frigid.
Do you understand that, you bastard!” There were tears in
her eyes now. “I can’t cum. I don’t climax. I don’t even
like it. Now you get your ass the hell out of here. Through
the door, through the wall; I don’t care how, just get the
hell out!”

He closed the book softly, a look of compassion on his
face. “That’s not quite true. What you said about cumming,
that is. You masturbate nearly every night, and cum each
time. In your night table you have an electric vibrator and
three dildos. You love the way they feel in you, but you’re
always embarrassed afterwards. As far as sex goes, you
really love it, but you’ve been taught that it’s dirty and
degrading. You’re full of guilty inhibitions. I intend to
change that.”

She sat down on the couch, heavily; awe on her flushed
face. How does he know? How? Could he REALLY be what he
says he is? she wondered in amazement.

“I can see you’re still not sure. Would you like me to
tell you your favorite fantasies? You’re really quite
imaginative, even if you believe that you’d never do those
things.”

“No,” she said, softly.

Hubert stood in front of her and placed his hand on her
forehead. His eyes lost their softness. In its place was a
strength she didn’t believe possible for anyone to have. His
whole persona seem to change in front of her eyes. His
fingers squeezed her temples, but didn’t hurt; a mist clouded
her eyes.

“Henceforth, you will be lustful! There will be no
shame, no embarrassment, no taboos. You will revel in the
pleasures of the flesh! You will have no boundaries and you
will have no inhibitions! So say I, Hubert, Guardian Angel
of this mortal woman.” His hand fell away. “There! It’s
done,” he said.

The haze before her eyes began to fade. She felt
relaxed and somehow alive. Her mind was completely aware of
her bodily functions; her heart beat, the warmth in the pit
of her stomach, the juice of her pussy. Pussy! Had she
really thought that word? She crossed her legs and
automatically squeezed the lips of her cunt together. A
surge of pleasure coursed through her body, so intense, she
gasped.

“Felt good, didn’t it?”

She looked at him, through slited eyes, and nodded.

Hubert held out his hand then led her to the full-length
mirror in the hallway. She searched her image for the
change. It was there, she knew it was; she was different,
more alive, more . . . desirable, more – she sought the right
word – horny! Yes, horny! She was hot! She wanted sex!
She wanted to fuck! To feel the pleasures of a big cock in
her cunt! Her mouth! Her ass! Oh, I want it so badly, she
thought. Her image mocked her. She was still who she was.
The changes were in her mind, not her body. Her face showed
her disappointment. Her shoulders sagged.

“What’s the matter?” Hubert asked.

“Look at me. Yuck!”

“Oh, is that all. Watch the mirror,” he said and
pointed his finger at her. The tingling sensation began at
the top of her head, radiating through her hair, down her
shoulders. She felt the skin of her body tighten, become
smooth; the age lines disappear. Her stomach muscles
stretched and became taut. Her legs firmed and her chest
swelled and lifted, straining the front of her dress. A
sudden fear gripped her as she watched the metamorphosis.
She was no longer who she was. She was beautiful! Beautiful
and built! She could feel her tits chaffing against the
binding material.

“It’s done,” he said. “Take off your clothes and look
at yourself.”

She looked at Hubert, then at her restrictive clothes.
With a smile, and sudden elation, she began pulling them
off, completely unselfconscious. Naked, she saw her new
body. Her face was smooth and unlined, her hair, lustrous,
and raven black. Two, full, upright globes of sensitive
flesh swelled from her chest, the nipples large and already
erect. She could see the defined muscles on her flat
stomach, the perfect sweep of her hips; her tapered, long
legs. The hair around her cunt was thick and coarse; a drop
of pussy juice glistened on a strand. Turning slowly she
could see her firm, heart-shaped ass in the mirror. She was
young! She was beautiful! She was perfect!

She threw her arms around Hubert, tears in her eyes.
“Oh, thank you. Thank you. If this is a dream I don’t
ever want to wake up.”

“It’s no dream,” he said, running his hand down her
naked back and firm flanks. A sudden lust filled her body.
She looked at him for the first time, not as a cartoon
character, or a Guardian Angel, but as a man. And a man has
a cock, she thought.

“I’m sorry,” he said, reading her mind, “but I can’t
indulge.

Peevishly, she stepped away from him. “Hubert, you’re
suppose to be my Guardian Angel. How can I become a great
piece of ass with only three assholes to my credit? I’ve
never even sucked cock!” Throwing her arms around him, she
rubbed her pussy against his crotch. No reaction.

“Shit, Hubert. I’m hot and horny. I need practice if
I’m going to set the world on fire.”

He smiled, slipped a finger in her wet cunt and tweaked
her clit. Her mouth dropped open in surprise as a small
climax rippled through her body. She panted with pleasure.
It’s true! It’s all true, she thought in delight. I can
fuck! I want to fuck!

“I intend to help you do just that,” he said with a
smile. We’re going to take it one step at a time. Sit
there.” He indicated the wing chair.

“Now play with yourself.”

“What?”

“Stick your finger in your cunt and make yourself cum.
Feel the pleasures that you can really give yourself now.”

“I want to fuck,” she said.

“Do it!” His voice rang with authority.

Suddenly, she was acutely aware of her nakedness and her
own vulnerability. She had never played with herself in
front of anyone and she hesitated, then looked into Hubert’s
eyes. Desire filled her body. Her love juices began to
flow. Her breath became short, and a strange tightness
gripped her loins. Pulling her legs up she exposed the thick
lips of her cunt. Her hand rubbed the rounded mound, her
finger sliding in easily. She sighed, closed her eyes and
began to finger-fuck herself.

“Oooh, yess!” she breathed. She felt so good she
wanted to cry out loud. Her head rolled from side to side
as she squirmed in the chair, her right hand jerking
rhythmically between her legs, she massaged her belly and
tits with her left. Her new, smooth and silky, body
responded with wild sensations. Squeezing her thighs around
her twisting right hand, she rocked her loins up and down,
fucking herself on her still, twisting middle finger. She
lifted her tits with her left hand, pushing them toward her
face, darting her wet tongue at the hard, extended nipples.

Each flick of her tongue across her sensitive flesh sent a
rush of electric pleasure through her body, making her
steaming cunt contract.