Lubrican's Strange Stories

Lubrican’s Strange Tales

by Robert Lubrican

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2010 Robert Lubrican

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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Table of Contents

Future Girl

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

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Doctor Jekyll and Mrs. Hyde - An unusual romance

Prologue; Chapter One; Chapter Two; Chapter Three; Chapter Four

Chapter Five; Chapter Six; Chapter Seven; ‘Chapter Eight

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FUTURE GIRL

Chapter 1

Truth is stranger than fiction. Everybody says so. But some truth seems like it is fiction.

So what do you do then? You know what I'm talking about. It's happened to you ... maybe many times. You find yourself in that situation where you're thinking What the heck is going on here? Can this be real? Is this really happening?

Of course, usually, those are short term situations. You're sliding across the ice toward that semi, anticipating the crunch of metal while you stomp uselessly on the brake pedal. Or maybe you're being robbed, and are looking down the barrel of a gun. Or you're delivering a package and this babe opens the door naked, and pulls you inside demanding to be sexually satisfied. No ... wait ... that's just in a story I read. That's real fiction. Sorry.

But you get the drift. Not that I think everybody's been in a crash, or robbed, but something has happened where you've wondered if you were dreaming it or not. Well, you might be interested to find out that sometimes those things aren't just short term, quickie situations. I know, because I'm living one right now. And it's been going on for five years. Or six years.

It kind of depends on who you talk to. But you didn't open this file to listen to me (watch me?) babble. You want to hear (see?) the story. So here it is.

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I'm an author. You know that already. But I was an author eight months ago too, which is why I was sitting at my computer in my house on Elm Street in Brady, Oklahoma. It's a thoroughly ordinary computer in a thoroughly ordinary house in a completely normal town. It's not the kind of place you'd expect magic to take place, or aliens to visit. But that's sort of what happened. Again ... depending on who you talk to.

Anyway, I was typing away on the Great American Novel when there was a knock at my door. That was unusual, because hardly anybody comes to visit me. I'm a kind of private fellow. But it isn't unheard of either, so I got up to answer it. It was a girl. Young woman, actually, though she had many girl-like qualities at first glance. I'll just tell you some of the things I noticed, because looking at this young woman sort of took your entire attention to do well, and hardly anybody does anything with their entire attention. This is to say that there is much more to her than I'm going to tell you about. This is just what I remember most vividly.

She had smooth, almost perfect skin, which was pale and had a spray of freckles from one cheek across the nose to the other cheek. I know most people think of freckles as a marring feature, but in this case that's like saying the stars mar the night sky. That nose was a little crooked, like maybe it had been broken. Her eyes were what is commonly called hazel, but I remember blue and brown and gold and green - all distinct and separate - but all at the same time. Her hair was purple, a deep, rich blue-black shade that I normally associate with black cherry soda in a glass. It wasn't long, or short. It was just there, framing that face. She was slim, and that included her breasts. I don't understand all this bra cup size stuff, but I imagined my hands on them, as if they were the support for me while I was doing a pushup (and yes, I know how weird that is,) and my hands would have covered them completely. What made them scream at me for attention was that her nipples were pressing through her T shirt, making it clear she wasn't wearing a bra of any size.

I noticed the T shirt had a picture and some writing on it. The picture was of a scowling clown, who looked decidedly unfriendly. The writing said Breasts are more fun than any clown.

I agree! I said immediately.

What?

Her voice was one of the things that was girl-like. I must admit that, in the ten seconds that I had been in this young woman's presence, my male body had reacted to her female one. As soon as I heard that voice, though, I felt like a child molester.

I'm sorry, I said, both wondering what I was sorry for ... and knowing ... on some deeper level. Can I help you?

I think so, she said. She was staring at me as if I might have sprouted a third eye. This is unbelievable. Her eyes widened, and I saw her pupils dilate. Having some experience with reading body language, my brain told me that was interest in me. Being an author with what I consider to be a firm and loyal following, one which I am very thankful for, I made the connection that this was a fan who had actually found me.

That was ridiculous, of course. But I wanted to believe I had been tracked down by a fan, perhaps my very first groupie. I mean if bands can have them, why not authors? We like to party and have sex too, you know.

In the truth-is-stranger-than-fiction department, it turns out she had tracked me down. And you could even say she was a fan, but that would be stretching the truth. At least at that point in time. And her interest in me had nothing to do with my books. At least at that point in time.

I can't believe you look so much like him, she said. Her voice had a wondering, sort of awe-filled tone to it. That's important, because it was the last time I ever heard her address me as if she was in awe.

And that is because I'm a thoroughly normal, un-exciting kind of guy.

I'd be delighted to try to help you, I said. But I need some clue as to what you want me to do, I said.

It was truth-is-stranger-than-fiction time again, because she flowed toward me and hugged me. She was a very strong girl, for as light as she looked. And those semi-naked breasts felt hot against my chest too. I continued to react to her as a man. I made a conscious decision not to feel bad about it, even though there was a fifteen-year-old sounding voice inside the delightfully soft woman in my arms.

I like trying to help you, I said. Please feel free to keep asking me to help you.

I felt the most gentle, most unsuspecting, most innocent bump of her loins against mine. I describe it that way because it happened while she pushed herself away from me. It was kind of like she used her whole body to push back, rather than just her hands. I was reminded of a dolphin, which uses its entire body to do anything at all. In other words, it wasn't a sexual thing she did. But it was impossible for her to miss how my male body felt about her female one.

You're a dirty old man too! she said, her voice suddenly huskier than a fifteen-year-old girl's voice had any business being.

I beg your pardon? I said, playing innocent. I mean I didn't have a leg to stand on. Actually, come to think of it, I suddenly had three legs to stand on, if you get my meaning. But I wasn't going to admit that to a complete stranger, especially one who I wanted desperately to