English Sex Stories
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I panted, feeling more aroused than ever in my life.
I looked at him in disbelief.

"I was born at night, but it wasn't last night!"

Thunder rocked the rickety old apartment building, the retort emphasizing my words perfectly. I stood in the elevator, glaring at the idiot in front of me while the lights flickered. I glanced around at the seedy, green paneling in the elevator and considered taking the stairs. Elevators never fall in a storm, but after a most horrible Monday, I expected nothing less.

"No, really," he said, a quirky smile rippling across his lips. I tell you, he was a gibbering idiot, but I couldn't turn away from that smile. It was preternatural, like an elegant, dignified wolf lurked behind his mouth. I expected a long, canine tongue to loll out any moment. I shifted on my feet, the weight of my bow-case pulling on my shoulder.

"Look," I snapped. "I don't have time for this. It's been like the worst day ever, so, please, just go away."

The worst day ever. I screwed up my college algebra exam that morning. I had a test every other week, and my grades were fair, but I was hyped about my archery contest that afternoon. I'm pretty good with a bow. I shoot recurves. I never liked the compounds. They look neat, but to me, somehow, all the technology and gears and gadgets takes the sport out of archery. As I said, I'm pretty good. I'm the best in my club, and in the less formal contests the clubs around New York City, I'm more or less accepted as the best. Just like on my test, though, I bombed the contest. Most of my shots were in the four and five rings, rather than the nine and ten where I normally shoot. I didn't even come close to the final round. I almost cried, and I never cry. Well, not in public.

The elevator doors started to close, but the guy in front of me blocked the doors with his hand, reached inside, and pushed the button for my floor without looking.

He wasn't bad looking. Taller than me, but still probably short for a guy, with curly black hair. His ancestors might have been Italian. Sort of lazy blue eyes under sleepy lids and a smile that might have been pleasant had he not been so smug.

"I know you had a bad day," he said. "Let me guess, it's Valentine's Day and none of the boys you know can handle your bow."

I glared at him. "Thanks for reminding me. What's that line? Oh, yeah, something about lemon-juice. Come on, let me go." I looked pointedly at where his hand was keeping the elevator doors occupied.

He stepped into the elevator. Suddenly it was like he was larger than life. I didn't recognize the names on his clothes. They were chic, but nameless, fashion-less, like he might have fit into any party between now and 1950. It was strange, like his grin. He wasn't all that close, but I felt like his breath was on my neck, on my ear. My tummy burned, as if the best boyfriend I ever had was putting a hand down my panties. Except I never had a best boyfriend. And none of them liked me enough to put their hands in my drawers. I swallowed, looked away, waited.

"And your luck in school is at a despicable low," he continued. "Your mother thinks you're a slut even though you're a virgin, and your father wants to molest you. Close? Tell me I'm wrong."

I stared at the floor. "You've been spying on me." My face burned.

"I spy on everyone. It's a quirk of the job, actually. But I really meant what I said before. I can get her for you."

Her. He was talking about her again. Jennifer Bridges. I know, I know, a girl. She's twenty, and two years older than me. She's got these wonderful sky-blue eyes I practically drool over. And that hair. Long, brown, tight curls, dancing like Slinkies hanging around her cheeks, over her shoulders. It's so lame, so lesbian, so 1990's, and yet there I was. We hung out sometimes, but she had no idea about my feelings. I'd never tell her. She's straight. I saw her with guys sometimes. She always had a good time with them. And I was alone.

Alone on Valentine's Day.

Lighting struck outside, and the building shook. It never stormed like this in February. Thunder and snow? The tremors made their way into the elevator via the cables. I thought again about those stairs. Maybe this guy would leave me alone if I made him climb twenty floors to follow me.

The doors closed behind him. He smiled again. "Let's go to my place. I'll show you how to get her."

"That's inventive for a pick-up," I snapped. "How many girls like that one? Yes, I can tell you're in love, now come with me. Works out a lot, I'll bet."

He shook his head. "You don't understand. I'm not hitting on you. I swear. Look, I have a bow too."

I didn't know where he hid it. I always make fun of guys in movies that wield swords yet never seem to carry them around. Jokes about exactly where those weapons hide are never-ending. Now, though, I was face to face with the real thing. He had a bow, a beautiful bow like nothing I'd ever seen, and yet, just a second ago, his hands had been empty.

The thing gleamed, like polished silver, only brighter somehow, as if lit from within. The string could have been polished gold, and shined. The cord was straight, not slack like a prop. It was an old-style recurve, not so different from my bow. I could see no manufacturer's plating or logos.

Okay, at this point, he had a lot more of my attention. Who was he? Why would he talk to me about Jenny Bridges? Why would he have a bow like this? Hell, I'd be afraid to shoot it. It probably cost more than my college tuition.

His smile broadened, like showing an old friend a good movie. The elevator doors opened again, and I realized we were on the roof. Snow covered everything, drifted into the elevator with the gusting winds. Thunder rumbled after a flash of lighting, echoing strangely from the ground. I had taken my coat off in the lobby, and now I shivered.

"Your place is a little drafty," I muttered.

He put one hand on my shoulder to guide me out of the elevator. Suddenly I wasn't so cold anymore. That best boyfriend I never had was putting his hand down my panties again. I burned inside, and my stomach felt tight.

"Come over here," he said, and guided me out onto the roof, towards the banister at the edge. I walked with him a ways, but I stopped a few feet away. Vertigo gripped me, replacing my arousal with a touch of dizziness.

"It'll pass," he told me. "Come over here and look."

I shook my head.

"I can see Jennifer from here."

Jennifer? Walking somewhere in this stormy winter weather. I joined him and looked down. Distant, miniature, the people on the ground hardly resembled people. How could he see Jennifer?

He moved around behind me, placing one hand on my shoulder and reaching over the other shoulder with his other arm, pointing a few blocks down the street. I know his hands were on my shoulders. I felt them. At the same time, my arousal sprang back in full force. That imaginary best boyfriend thing. It was somebody was putting their hands on me, touching me, stirring me. I felt wet in my core, and my breasts hurt at the tips, hurt so sharply, but it was such a sweet pain. My breath came short, as if there just wasn't enough oxygen in the air.

As if my arousal had a direct effect on my vision, I could suddenly see much clearer. I felt like I was looking through a sniper's scope, sort of, as my eyes somehow zoomed down over Jennifer's shoulder. She walked along, her head down, her hands in her pockets. It was almost like seeing a different girl with the same face. Men passed her on the street, appraising her good looks even in the foul weather. She cringed when thunder rumbled overhead, and one man around her almost reached out towards her. I could see their attraction to her, but in this peculiar, enhanced vision, their interest made me hot, hotter than I already was. My clothes became too constricting. My hair clung to my neck, teasing my skin. Heat swam in my shirt, currents shifting around my breasts, down in my pants. I looked down on Jennifer, watched her posterior sway as she walked, and I thought I would melt.

The boy from the elevator shifted behind me. His breath came hot on my ear. My spine prickled with heat and moisture. How could I sweat in this foul weather. Bits of snow flurried around my face - snow and thunder, in February, and I lost track of Jennifer. I knew his hands were on my shoulders, but I swear, I felt one reach around and caress my breast. I tried to focus on the girl of my dreams. The memory of her butt swishing made me close my eyes and groan, and suddenly I felt weightless, suspended in dream. I felt the boy's erection against the bare curve of my back.

A long, slow breath through my mouth. Another.

His manhood was on my skin. My bare skin. I admit, it took quite a bit longer than it should have for the strangeness of that fact to catch my attention. First, for sure, as he nestled himself on the top of my posterior, along the groove of my lower spine, I entertained the notion of his sliding lower, oh so exquisitely lower, and into me. I had been so empty, and being filled by someone, touched by someone, held a mesmerizing promise that overwhelmed my innate, pessimistic curiosity.

The other thing, the thing about the whole scenario from the bottom of the elevator ride onward, was that it all felt so right, as if I knew this young man, knew his piercing eyes and curly black locks well. Perhaps even intimately. Worse, the rooftop, seeing Jennifer from so far away, even the mysterious silver bow, all felt right, as natural as a spring rain.

And why couldn't I catch my breath. He shifted his length along my skin, minutely, but in anticipatory imitation of intercourse. Such a subtle thing, the tiny thrust of his organ, until he jutted into the small of my back. His breath remained hot in my ear as I floated beneath him. I felt liquid, as if he could swim in me, as if I could be poured.

"Welcome," he whispered in my ear.


"Welcome, Cupida. On behalf of our lord, god, and master, Eros, I bid you welcome into the ranks of his impassioned servants. You are cupid, my Love, servant of lust, desire, passion, and love. Eros has chosen to make you his own."

Before I could even think to try to absorb what he had just said, he took one of my hands and whirled me like a dancer. I spun, sailing out over the street. Yet, I did not fall. Nor did I panic. I should have. It would have been so easy to look beneath me towards the street and scream. I did neither. Instead, I was looking at his body. The boy had changed. His clothes were gone. His hair gleamed with a light it had not possessed before. His erection jutted between his legs as he looked at me, a satisfied smile lighting his angelic face.

Eventually, it dawned on me that I was naked too. Thunder shook the city while snow fell around us, and I hovered, naked as a newborn, floating over a down-town street in New York City. But oh, how I had changed too. My skin was flawless. My breasts, once undersized and sagging, now stood full, not larger but full. My hips were not quite so flabby, and my now smooth bikini region had tightened up, less skin, more gently parted vagina. I panted, feeling more aroused than ever in my life.

With a slight dip, the boy joined me over the street, took my hand, pulled me in a graceful, languid arc towards the street in Jennifer's direction. We drifted easily. I know I should have been afraid, but I was much to hot on the inside to be scared.

He met my eyes. He smiled. "I know how you feel," he said, his voice clear and low, sultry for a man, all the more arousing. "Believe me, I know exactly how you feel. But, I'm your trainer, so for now, we have to behave."

A few moments ago, I would have taken offense at his presumption. Now, it startled me only because I realized how badly I wanted to wrap my legs around him and impale myself on his lovely organ. My body responded instantly. I grew moist, like honey brewed between my legs. My skin prickled. Even his fingers holding my own became arousing. I still breathed in short, quick breaths. Ah, how I hungered.

We touched down lightly on the sidewalk. The concrete should have been rough and far too cold. I hardly felt it. The sand and cement and bits of wet slush teased my soles, rather than abraded. I spread my toes as I stood there, aroused even by my bare feet. Men and woman walked past us, around us but never seeing us. My hands were over my breasts, but after a moment I dropped them. I was too hot to care. My insides boiled. I expected to leak honey any second.

"Eros' blessing," the boy laughed. "People see us, but they ignore us. Until you put your lust away and return to your natural body, you cannot be seen by mortals."

I walked in front of a woman passing nearby. She moved around me. I cut her off. She glanced at me as if I was just another person on the street. She didn't even get aggravated as I cut her off again. I stopped toying with her, let her move on down the street. I grinned. I was naked in New York.

"Now," the boy continued, "there is fun. Oh yes, fun, fun, fun. But, there is also a sort of responsibility." He produced that bright, gleaming bow again. "We have work, of a sort, to do. Look. Look at them all around you. Touch them. Go ahead. That man there, at the corner. Put your hand in his shirt. His pants, if you want."

I did as he instructed, feeling guilty over invading the stranger's personal space. I walked behind him, wrapped my arm around him, put my hand over his hairy navel. He straightened, though for all other intents he seemed unaware of my presence.

"We're taught as children that we cannot touch just anybody." The boy zipped up behind me as I slowly reached into the stranger's pants. My inhibition fled under the dual onslaught of the boy's voice and my own budding lust. I touched the stranger, felt his manhood between my fingers, felt him throb and stiffen.

I suddenly felt stronger. Without even knowing what I was doing, I flew upwards in a spiral, laughing as the snow and wind rushed over my body, cool but not cold, arousing but not nearly enough. My new friend followed me, laughing, until finally I stopped. I flew to him, caught him, settled my sex over his.

And suddenly he darted backwards, out of my reach.

"Oh, no," he laughed. "Not yet, love. Our work is not done, and we're not to play until the work is done."

I might have felt miffed at his refusal, before, but now, I just laughed and spiraled again. After a few seconds, I began to slow, feeling more tired.

"There," he said, suddenly just beside me. "The drain. Weakness. Flying is hard. Lust requires energy. Our energy comes from ourselves, but it must be stimulated, you see. Down there, the woman in black. Touch her. Share her skin, the way you did that man."

I darted to her, spinning like a diving World War II airplane in one of those old movies. I laughed and laughed, and then, when I was behind the strange, blonde woman dressed in a long, black, leather coat, I whipped around in front of her, pushed my hands into her coat, and found she was naked beneath. My hands closed on her breasts. I felt her nipples beneath my thumbs, and she gasped. I quivered, my sex boiling, and all the strength I had lost, and a fair amount more besides, returned to me in an instant.

I released the blonde, and she fixed her coat as if nothing had happened, yet her eyes almost glowed. I had touched her. Not just her skin. She was aroused. Her eyes roamed over the street, taking in the other pedestrians, hungry and sensual and beastly and angelic all at once. My belly seethed, my legs longed to spread, to touch my sex to someone, anyone.

"You're getting the hang of it," my friend said. "Lust, and passion, and even love, are our energy. The beauty of it is that we are mirrors. We are strengthened by the lust around us, without taking their energy from them. Eros is a very wise god. You must remember this."

I laughed, then darted off between cars, zipping along the street.

"I thought cupids had wings," I said, laughing, when he caught up to me.

"Only our best, my love. Only our best. Those with the gifts and understanding to join our lord in his own realm. I hope to be such a cupid, one day."

"What's your name?" I asked him as I wrapped myself around him again. This time, I approached him from behind, glued myself to his back. His buttocks pressed into my groin, and his manhood filled my hands.

"Yes, I was right. You're a quick learner. But have you forgotten Jennifer?"

I released him, realizing how I had been acting, and slowly, I drifted towards the sidewalk beneath us. By the time I touched the ground, my old body was back, clothes and all, and I felt lifeless, almost non-existent. I had betrayed Jennifer. I had touched other people. Three of them now. And the sad part was that I wanted to touch more.

When the boy cupid joined me again, he, too, was dressed, normal.

"You see. Now you've run the gamut of our transformations. When your lust fades, so does your power. It can be addictive, but the only harm is in your responsibilities in the mortal world. I have few, so I can do whatever I want. You have people, a few relatives, that you wish to be with. You have to keep your mortal life going, for that. You have to blend in with them. Don't worry, though, you can take many, many breaks while serving Eros."

I swallowed. "So what about Jennifer?"

He looked almost sad. "There's the conundrum. You're a cupida. You love everyone. You lust for everyone, all the time. You cannot get sick, nor pregnant. The diseases you might risk as a mortal can no longer touch you. And only our lord can impregnate you. Believe me, it takes a truly, wickedly naughty girl to get his attention for that. Just remember, if you dally in mortal form, though, all the risks remain."

I shook my head. "I don't want to love everyone. I want to love Jennifer."

"You can't turn off the lust, dear. None of us can. Can you live with her, knowing that soon, maybe within minutes, you'll be touching, loving, someone else? Can you kiss her goodbye on your way to class, knowing you'll be having sex before you get to school, maybe? Can you come home at night to her, with the memory of a dozen lovers filling your thoughts? If your love is stronger than all that, then maybe there's a chance."

I looked at the ground. I grinned. It had been fun dashing through the air, nude, weightless. "What do I do?"

"Well, we have to get back to that work thing, first. Then I'll help, I promise."

I looked at him, watched as in a blink his cupid form returned, nude, erect, angelic.

"What's your name?"

"My mortal name is Matt. To you, am Cupido, as you are Cupida. We, and hundreds others just like us, serve Eros together."

"Matt," I whispered. His erection distracted me. I gave in, swam in the hunger, the burning between my legs becoming liquid heat. In a flash, I, too, had changed. I flew upwards, reveling in the freedom, both of flight and nudity. Now, transformed, it was difficult to understand how I could feel so ashamed of my wanton nature. Desire was as natural as breathing.
"This way," he called to me. I flew up over the pedestrians and cars on the street. I spun wildly, laughing the entire way, until I came to a stop at Matt's side. He pointed to a handful of people waiting at a bus stop.

"One of those is in sore need of attention, Cupida. Can you tell me which one?"

I looked at the small group. When I saw nothing to separate any of them, I darted closer, grinning when I saw that like everyone else, they could not see me. Like with the two people he had had me touch, I went through the small group, putting my hands in their shirts, sensing their reactions, thrilling in the way my own reaction mirrored theirs. At last, I came to a woman to did not react at all when I touched her stomach. I could have touched her breasts, but it was quicker, easier, just to touch their bellies. Men and women both have subtle erogenous zones around their navels, as I discovered. When I came to this woman, though, a short, droop-shouldered lady in her mid-twenties, with heavy glasses and plain, straight hair, I felt no lust or desire at all. I pulled my hands back in a flash when I felt as if she was sucking my own arousal out of me.

"What did you see?" Matt asked.

"Nothing. Except, she's lonely. She has no love, no appeal."

Matt flew in beside me and handed me the silver bow. "Now you know what to look for. Those are the ones we have to fix."

I looked at him, then the bow, then the listless woman, then back to the bow. Cupid, I was telling myself. Cupid shoots a bow.

Only then did I notice that Matt had a quiver under his shoulder. He pulled out an arrow and handed it to me.

I frowned. "I have to shoot her?"

He smiled. "Special arrows. Now, we have to ask ourselves a question. Does this woman need a good night of passion, or does she need a solid romance?"

I shrugged. "Going on what I just felt, I'd say she needs both."

Matt nodded sagely. "Indeed, yet, did you observe her hands?"

I looked closer. She was married. "What does that have to do with..."

"Because, she doesn't feel love for her husband. Can you guess why?"

I looked into her eyes. As if I could read her, I saw how she went home to a husband who ignored her. Yet, there was more to it than that. Her husband didn't just ignore her, he avoided her almost completely. Through her eyes, I saw that her husband was afraid of her, afraid of hurting her, afraid because of a miscarriage several years ago. He loved her, but he avoided her, and because he never explained what he felt, and never got an explanation from his wife, the two of them had fallen apart.

"You see," Matt said, then grinned. "She doesn't need another lover. She just needs to get close to the one she has."

I held up the arrow. It was thin, coppery, with a metal head shaped like a leaf. A pointed, jagged leaf. I knocked the arrow. The bow fit my hands and arms better than any I've ever known. The draw was light, but I felt a peculiar rush behind it, as if the bow held far more power than I imagined.

"Are you sure this is the right thing to do?"

Matt shook his head. "Always keep in mind that love, and lust, are as fleeting as any bird. They come and go, and none, not even our master, can always predict what will happen. Our arrows are...hints...if you will. Suggestions. Tugs in a direction our targets have yet to see."

He flew up into the air. I followed, still uncertain. "Now, shoot her. Let the arrow find her. It'll instill an irresistible passion. Let it guide her. She'll go to her husband. They'll have a wonderful night. Maybe more than a night. Then, later, this rekindled fire will help restore what they lost. And you won't have to send her into another man's arms to do it."

Why did I trust him? Looking back now, it's easy to question why I went along so easily with everything. I suppose I did it because it felt right. When I drew the bow to fire, it hummed softly in my hands, as if stoked by the arousal stirring in my loins. Just as before, when I could see her problems in her eyes, I know saw what the arrow would do to her, I felt her lust begin to boil before it even happened. I felt her body loosen, open up, as if, somehow, I was momentarily a part of her. When that happened, I knew I was ready, so I fired.

The arrow sailed only a short distance, and there's no way I could miss from only thirty feet away. I watched the arrow pass through her and beyond. It sailed into the sidewalk and vanished. My link to the woman vanished when the arrow did. She looked up, looked around, as if coming to life, and again, this time from the real thing, I felt her passion welling. She slowly smiled, glanced up at the desultory sky, and stretched as if enjoying a fine spring day. Matt caught my hand and pulled me up, away from her.

"Excellent shot. Time for the next lesson. I want you to find your next target by yourself this time. I'm not going to narrow it down at all."

I darted off down the street, heedless of where I went or who I saw. I stopped to elicit lust from the people I passed, casually touching them with a freedom that might have appalled me earlier that day. Nude, flying, and carrying a silver bow. I found it exhilarating.

I found him after several minutes of watching. A tall, red-haired executive stood at a corner, waiting for traffic to change, or maybe for a taxi. He was in no hurry, and watched the ground when he wasn't watching the traffic. When I flew up to check him, he sighed slowly, as if bored. He checked his watch absently, and ignored the people around him. When I looked into his eyes, I saw an empty statehouse, unreturned messages from his mother on the answering machine, and a couch slept on more than his bed.

As before, his lack of interest seemed to be some sort of vortex that sucked away my energy. I pulled back, feeling almost repulsed by his nonchalant miasma of disinterest in life.

Matt came up beside me. "Good. How did you know he was the one?"

I shrugged. "I could see it when I looked at him. It wasn't a certainty, just a feeling. So, I checked."

"Excellent. You'll be seeing things a little differently from now on. Don't be afraid to trust your instincts. So, now, what do we do?"

I flitted back and forth in the air, thinking. "He needs a mate," I said.

"Right. So, who?"

I looked around. "Someone here?"

He grinned, his angelic curls bouncing when his head tilted. "Hard to shoot someone else if they're not here, right?"

I stared at him.

"You know the stories. Whoever you're going to pair him with, that person has to be right here too. You have to shoot them with the same arrow." He corrected himself. "Er, the same shot, actually."

"How do I know who to pick?"

Matt grinned at me. "Take aim, Cupida. Circle him. Watch the others. It'll come to you. She'll be right here with him, somewhere." He smirked. "Or he will. Whatever."

I flitted in a circle around my target. The man checked his watch again, then crossed the street. I followed, spiraling around him. Eventually, I saw a woman coming up. She was a red-head too, and as soon as I saw her along the sights of the bow, it was as if some sort of force gripped me, like a lifetime of happy love crushed into an instant.

"Heady, isn't it," Matt whispered in my ear.

As I pulled back to aim at her through the red-haired gentleman, the other woman suddenly turned and got into a taxi. I gasped.

"But...but....she was the one!"

Matt chuckled. "Not the one. A one. A possibility. We humans are a romantic bunch, most of the time, and that hunger for a perfect mate makes us think, hope, that there's one perfect match out there. What none of us ever really see is that there are potentially hundreds out there. Even still, it's a lucky few that finds one of the right ones."

I faltered. "You make it sound so...well...almost childish."

He grinned a wicked grin. "Why do you think our kind, cupids I mean, are always painted as children? Love is fickle. It crops up when you least expect it. It's only from the singular perspective in our minds that it seems so...fated. But don't worry about that. Keep with your target. There are other fish, so to speak."

I followed the businessman down the street. Down the arrow in the bow, I watched him, circling, looking for another. He rounded a corner, and I saw another woman with soft, cocoa skin intent on window shopping at a pet store. She longed for a puppy to fill the emptiness in her life. I grinned. I had one large, red-haired puppy lined up. Well, literally, actually.

"That's it," Matt whispered in my ear. "You have to get them both."

I watched the intervening pedestrians for a clear shot, and when it came, I released the arrow. It flew right where I aimed, almost exactly like shooting my own bow, only the arrow lost almost no altitude between my two targets. It pierced the heart of the red-head, then shot through the air to repeat the process on the other woman. For an instant, I felt a breath of the warmth that might come between them, if their love was allowed to grow.

As if guided by my arrow, the businessman moved closer and closer, until finally, just as he was about to pass the other woman, he tripped over his own feet and fell on his face directly in front of her. The woman yelped, but then dropped to help him up. Their hands touched, their eyes met. They smiled.

Triumphant, I shot straight up into the air. I was aroused and exultant at the same time. I found Matt racing up after me. He nodded once.

"Very good, Cupida. You know the way we work, now. It's your job to spread our lord's favors of lust and love across the city, wherever you go, whenever you can. Keep your other life, as you wish, or discard it and remain unfettered. The choice is yours."

He flew around me. "There are a few more details. As I said, you are immune to the dangers of open libidinousness, when in this form. If you copulate in your mortal shape, the risks all return. Keep that in mind. No, there's no guarantee that if you have a child, your offspring will become cupids. No, there's no guarantee you'll be a cupid forever. Some people get tired of it, or grow out of it."

Another revolution in his orbit. "Last, but certainly not least, love for you. To take a lover as your own, kiss, lick, or otherwise moisten your arrowhead with your own moisture. Whoever you shoot will be yours for a day, maybe two. Treat them well. If they feel anything worse minor guilt afterwards, our lord will become vexatious. On the other hand, if you want someone's love, you have to earn it. To start with, you have to show them who you are. A simple kiss of their eyes will suffice. Now, I know, it sounds silly, but this rule is one of the few things not designed into our very being. The kiss will allow them to see you as you are, as a cupid. The rest, showing them, revealing the truth, it's a choice our master expects you to follow then the time is right. For instance, if you want to try to get Jennifer's love, for life or whatever, then this is what he requires you do. The rest, the bow, the flight, the lust, it's built in. None of us can change it. But, he chooses that our love, if we pursue it, must be from the heart, and honest. Your mate has to know what you are, what you do, and what you will be doing when you're away. As I said, it's our one real directive. Don't break that rule, and refrain from harming the mortals with your power over them, and Eros' rewards will find you."

"Is there a supervisor or anything?"

He grinned. "Best job in the world. Your body is your supervisor. It'll tell you when to quit, it'll tell you when to start. It'll tell you who to choose, who to ignore, everything you need to know. And if you get into trouble, which I really can't imagine ever happening, then call me."

He flew upwards, his shimmering curls bouncing around his face and ears.

"Wait. How do I call you?"

"Easy," he said with a laugh, then a little spiral of flight. "Use your body."

And then he was just gone. I was left, floating over New York, holding a new, shiny, silver bow, with not a stitch of clothes.

Suddenly he was behind me again. I felt his breath on my ear. Thunder pealed through the streets. His breath moved down over my breast, tweaked one of my nipples as easily as his fingers might have. As if mirroring the storm, little flashes of lightning spread from my breast down to my belly, where they zapped and boiled my already seething cauldron. I felt his warmth along my spine. Matt's manhood slid down through the groove of my buttocks, touched my nether mouth, and pierced my sex with one, slick thrust. I whimpered and trembled as his length rested within my honeyed folds, and I was certain his touch, and his member, were the only things holding me aloft. Lightning cracked overhead.

"Ah, lovely," he whispered. "But Jennifer. Go back to your apartment. I've taken care of everything. Go. Take your time to compose yourself, if you want, but not too long. And don't forget that your stuff is waiting on the roof."

With that, he pulled back out of me, kissed me once on the shoulder, then zipped skyward, into the heavens and out of sight. The winter thunderstorm howled after him. For a brief yet maddening moment, I wondered at the wisdom of flying in the air during a storm with my one accessory a metal bow. I looked up into the sky.

"What about arrows?"

No sooner than I had spoken, I noticed a small shoulder sling holding a dozen arrows under my left arm. Once I acknowledged them, they vanished again. I slung the bow over my head, the way the ancient archers carried them, and like the arrows, it vanished. I smiled. Neat.


I drifted back to the street. I felt almost dirty, the way I had reveled in the sensations of Matt's flesh inside me. All this time I had yearned for her, and there I had been as wanton as I could ever imagine being, all for him. This was the part he had talked about, where I had to come to grips with the fact that I could find myself engaged in sex with anyone, any time, all because of what I had become. A cupid. A stirrer of the pot of lust, bestower of the kiss of love, redeemer of the lonely.

I walked back towards my apartment, somewhat surprised at how far we had gone. I tried to formulate what I would say to Jennifer. I tried to find the words to express the pent up feelings I had been trapping deep inside for so long now. I wrestled with the words, and the feelings behind them. I felt ashamed, both that I had fallen for a woman and that I had tried to hard to hide it. I felt guilty for spying on her during all those outings, watching her make out with her dates, watching her hands in their back-pockets, wishing it was me in her arms. I felt angry with myself for being so shy, so confused, so helpless. I felt a little angry with Jennifer for never noticing the way I must have trailed after her, hung on her words, clung to her brief touches the way a simple friend never should have. Not like girl friends, but like a girlfriend.

By the time I reached my apartment, I was exhausted, and I had gotten no further with what I should say to Jenny. I followed the elevator up to the top floor. As before, it opened on the roof and I gathered my things, then trudged back through the slush. Rain started falling, blown by stormy winds, and lightning clapped, impossibly loud and echoing off the many tall buildings like the stutter of a movie machine gun. I was shivering by the time I got to my floor. Water dripped off my black hiker-style boots as I moved towards my apartment. Was I supposed to go to her? What, exactly, had Matt set up? A date?

When I got to my door, I saw a sliver of paper peeking from beneath the door. I stuffed my things under one arm and leaned down to grab it. Just as I reached for it, a gentle gust of air sucked the paper back into my apartment. I straightened, curious, and pushed my key into the door.

I pushed the door open, and the lights went out. I blinked in the darkness. Emergency lights out in the hall provided mild illumination. I saw the paper, an envelope, on the floor. When I picked it up, I saw in the faint light the shape of a heart drawn in red pen. Confused, I put my stuff down and stood in the doorway to open the envelope.

"Cassie," the note inside began. Cassie. My name, scrawled in beautiful, feminine pen. Cassie. Cassiopeia not Cassandra. "I've been watching you."

Thunder rocked the darkened apartment, echoed down the hallway. That one had been close. More lightning flickered, a momentary strobe. I saw someone in my apartment, silhouetted against far windows. I froze, but when the lightning returned, I saw no one. Nervous, I waited, trying to convince myself I had been seeing things.

"Matt?" I called out. I hesitated. "Jenny?"

More flickers, with no one in sight. I glanced back to the note.

"All this time, we've been together, but not really. I've been watching you, how you always defer to me, shadow me. Sometimes it feels like simple friendship. Sometimes it feels like worship. The only thing wrong with how I think you feel is the fact that I can't understand why you'd be interested in anyone like me. After a while, I guess I sort of thought you weren't actually interested enough to say anything. Sometimes, I told myself you were just that way, a shy person's friendliness feeling awkward only because it's awkward for you. One night I actually came to your door, in my nightgown, because I couldn't sleep without knowing what was going on. I panicked, though, and I was afraid you'd think I was nuts. Or, I was afraid you didn't feel anything for me and you'd now hate me because you thought I was weird."

I sighed. It was Jenny. And she was as screwed up as I was. You could never tell it, not from looking at her. Jennifer Bridges, modern woman, straight, successful, empowered.

"We spoke earlier, right? Do you remember what we said? You were in the lobby, just past the doors, and I was leaving the elevator. There was that creepy but good-looking guy standing over by those ridiculous fake ferns. You said 'Hi.' I said, 'Hi.' It was a short conversation. You were dejected over something. I guessed it had to do with your bow. You've never talked about archery, though I see your bow all the time. But you said it was just another day. I shook my head. 'Don't you have a date lined up for Valentine's Day?' 'No,' you told me. 'No one. No friends, no dates. No nothing.' Just you and your bow. I left after that, because the conversation fell apart."

I stared at her beautiful words, enraptured by her recital. Is that really how I talked? Hadn't I told her about my competitions? I realized there was so much of my life I had never bothered to reveal to her. Was her gentle distance my fault? Because I was so obsessed with her I never gave her the chance to do exactly what I wanted. I swallowed. Another blast of thunder ripped through my apartment, and I jumped. I took a deep breath, and returned to the note.

"That short, failed conversation haunted me all the way down to Laura's place. I was supposed to go shopping with her for her boyfriend's present. He's a sweet guy, I guess, so she wanted to reward him before she rewarded him. Lucky her. All the boys I've dated only ever wanted one thing, and it wasn't my inner light, my free-spirit, or my friendly laugh. Last week, after I got home from Jerome's party, I remember thinking I should have spent the night with you on a couch somewhere, just talking. Why do we get along so well together, yet remain so distant, aloof, like a married couple about to become separated, but without the fighting? While I rode around with Laura, I came to a decision. I want to know you, and I want to know what you want. Is that too much to ask, after all this time? After all the jilted evenings of trailing on my not-so-private dates, helping me shop for clothes, and that one time holding my hand on the way back from my cousin's funeral? We drink from the same glass, sometimes. Yet I don't know what your favorite color is. I don't now what music you like, or who your favorite movie star is. You've seen me all but naked a hundred times, but I don't know if you have a birthmark, or if you even shave your legs. I'm guessing you do, but you see, though we're so close, it's like we're not really in the same world."
I was sobbing. Why? I'm not sure. A tremendous weight hovered over me, ready to free me from my self-inflicted exile or to crush me with the rejection I feared would spring up any moment.

"I want to know you, girl," she said. "If you're really a 'straight' girl, then leave. Go out for a bit. I'll straighten up here, and we'll never talk about this again. If, instead, you really are interested, then close the door and come on in. I'm in your bedroom. I might be asleep, so please, don't surprise me too much. This storm is crazy enough. But I'm waiting for you."

She left a space, then, "P.S. Prepare to strip, girl, 'cause I'm going to find that birthmark."

I laughed and sobbed at the same time. That was it for the letter. I pulled my door shut and held the note in white-knuckled fingers. I started towards my bedroom in the total darkness between flashes of lightning. I didn't know what I was going to find, exactly, but I intended to find out.

Before I could go far into my kitchen, a gentle glow started in front of me. It took only a moment to identify candles. Dozens of them, all springing into flame at the same time, as if on a switch. The candles were set on waist-high stands, and behind each candle, but far enough away to be safe from the flame, was another, slightly taller stand holding a simple vase and a single rose. Red roses. The candles closed off a sort of path and curved into my living/dining area, then swept out of sight down the hallway towards my bedroom.

I stared at the flames, tears on my cheeks and around my eyes glinting. It was beautiful. Amazed, I followed the path. Something beneath my shoes caught my attention, and I looked down to find rose petals strewn across my floor. I cried, uncertain if I was really sad over my shyness, really happy over Jenny being in my room, or just plain confused. I sniffed, dried my face with the back of my sleeve, and continued across my living area carpet.

More candles lined the hallway, each accompanied by its rose. At the end of the hall, they curled into my bedroom. With slow, hesitant steps, I followed them inside. Lightning crashed outside.

Jennifer was laying in my bed. She looked at me when I came in. She sat up. In the glow of the candle-light, I saw her shoulders and arms gleam. Her cami glittered, decorated with speckles and metallic seams. Her eyes shined the candlelight back at me.

"Matt is creepy," she said. "You kind of start to like him after a while, though."

"So he did talk to you." I stopped beside the bed. Jenny moved her bare legs out from beneath the covers, sat on the edge in front of me. The arm's distance between us could have been as close as touch, or as distant as the next town.

"Yeah. I couldn't get him to shut up, after a while."

I hadn't thought he had that much time, hardly more than a blink, really, to set all this up. I was confused again, trying to figure if all this was from her or him.

Jenny stood up.

"I know what you are," she said. The lightning flashed, and after, when the too-bright glare receded like liquid pouring back out into the night, leaving only the dark and the candles, her eyes had changed. At first, I thought they were all black, but as I looked, curiosity mixing with a sort of surprised dread, I saw that they were instead a sort of swirled gray. Her hair was longer. Red. Her skin had turned pale like mine. She was naked to the waist, and wore a long, flowing skirt slit up both sides. The skirt was something thin. Sheer. Even in the candlelight, I saw the darkness at her groin. When the lightning flashed again, I saw the stark outline of her legs and hips against the material.

Changed. She changed. Like me, but not.

"Matt didn't tell you much, did he?" Her voice became even more vibrant, commanding the room. Her already powerful personality became a force of nature. "No, I suppose not. There really wasn't time."

She walked around me. Her hair flowed around her as if suspended in water. Her skits drifted on gentle breezes I couldn't see. Her small, perky breasts preceded her. I looked at her nipples, at the way her flesh curved into her ribs, into her armpit. I watched how her hair played across her shoulder, her collarbone, the way the light faded, more shy than me, into the graceful curve of her neck. Her features were the same, but like me, changed. My breathing stilted, I panted. I couldn't get enough air as I fought the urge to embrace her. I don't know why I fought it. I wasn't quite ready.

"Eros wasn't the only god to create servants," she told me. "I'm a nymph. More specifically, a dryad. My tree is down in Central Park. I've been protecting her since she first budded in 1923. I protect the trees around her too, and even, sometimes, the people there."

I stared.

"My ancestors came here in the eighteen-hundreds. Straight from Greece. Probably not too different from your family. Anyway, there's a lot more to it. You can ask me whatever you want."

I faced her. She stopped walking, stood plainly before me, once again the dark-haired, tanned beauty I knew but didn't know. I closed the distance. My inner fire sparked. I leaned up. My lips came to rest against her eyelid. I kissed her. I tasted her on my lips after, not a flavor that's any one thing, just all her. I kissed her other eyelid.

She sort of frowned, but smiled at the same time. "You don't have to do that. I can already see you for what you are."

I nodded. "A rule," I said. "One of few. Did Matt explain to you what I am, what I will do?"

Jenny shook her head. Those lovely, long curls of hers bounced, shook, and my joy tripled. I loved watching her.

"No, silly. I knew what you were before he did. I was the one who called him in. I hope you liked him, I had to call in a few favors. He's among the best, though I imagine he let on none of that."

I blinked. "No, nothing like that."

She reached up, touched my cheek. "Yes, Cassie, I know what you are. I know you'll touch and be touched by many other people. I knew that was how it would be. I have one condition only. While you're with me, just be with me. I don't care if you're Cassie or Cupida, just be with me. Leave the others out. And you have to know, a part of my nature requires that I take men to the forest and take their seed."

Dryads? Nymphs? Cupids? I didn't really know a lot about that stuff. I had just had Matt's erection inside me, though, so it was all to easy to realize that our commitment to each other could not be affected by our elaborate flirtations elsewhere.

"Okay. I don't care. The only thing I hated about your boyfriends was that I wasn't one of them."

She smiled, leaned in, kissed the cheek she was touching.

"This is a little weird," she told me.

I nodded. We moved closer. I kissed her lips. Thunder rumbled, but somehow, I missed the flash of lightning.

She kissed me back. She was so soft. Her cami, returned with her change of form, almost seemed to melt when I touched my fingertips to her hips. The stormy night seemed to stretch out in front of us, like a road going off into infinity.

"Did you like your bow?" she whispered as I moved closer still, wrapping my arms around her softness. Her hands moved around me, pulled me close, slid into my back pockets. I nodded my approval. Her hands in my pockets, like I had wished so many times, was all it took. My clothes vanishes as I changed forms, and suddenly her warm hands laid directly on the upper curves of my butt. I stared into her eyes, naked and unflinching.

"I picked it out myself," she said with a sly smile. "Happy Valentine's Day, Cupida."

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