On Your Shoulder

She decided to stop thinking of depressing adjectives and start fantasizing. A dirty yet dreamy smile crossed her face. One hand snaked its way beneath her pajamas and panties, the other under her nightshirt. She began fondling herself.

Single and unattached, Poppy thought about different women when masturbating: celebrities, public strangers, occasionally an office-mate for a spicy workplace scenario. But secretly, while she wouldn't admit it, her own personal biggest crush and most intense jill-off fantasy was a literal work of art. Her parents owned a copy of the classic rock album "Layla." And the first time Poppy saw it—with the lovely painting "La Fille au Bouquet" as the cover—she fell heels over head in love. As a young teenager, she'd pluck the record from the shelf and sneak off to her room, where she'd listen to it, kiss it, and even sleep with it like it was her teddy bear.

Her mind often wandered back to simpler times. Senior year in high school, Poppy met Gigi Robertson, the young woman who'd become her girlfriend the next several years. She was wonderful: sweet, kind, generous, affectionate, upbeat. And then there was the trait which endeared her most to Poppy. She even looked like the beloved "La Fille au Bouquet" painting. Poppy couldn't believe her luck when Gigi liked her back. It was the beginning of what looked like a beautiful relationship.

Gradually, the novelty of togetherness wore off. Gigi loved the things they did on dates: seeing movies, going to restaurants, walking in the park or any other venue of attraction. But her mate craved a bit of horizon expansion. By the time Poppy's 21st birthday rolled around, she wanted to start doing more adventurous things. She wanted to go snow and water skiing, rock-climbing, bungee jumping, even skydiving. Unfortunately, what she found exciting, her girlfriend found scary. Gigi was content to have peaceful times at home with her sweetie. She was frightened to do these things—and deep down, for Poppy to go through with them as well. But she told Poppy she'd be her biggest supporter, and encourage her every step of the way. Poppy was a little disconcerted Gigi didn't want to take part in her activities, even if she was just scared.

One night, Poppy just felt like being by herself. She went to a bar and had a few drinks. She guessed she understood her honey was intimidated by her adventurous ideas, but, oh, she didn't know. Somehow, such quests didn't seem enjoyable without Gigi by her side, chasing the wind with her each step of the way. Poppy imagined that for or with her, the love of her life willing to go to the ends of the Earth, and that together they would conquer it. Her parents taught her a good relationship tip was to put herself in the other person's shoes now and then. But such techniques never came so easy to Poppy. She didn't mean to be egoistic; she just had trouble seeing things in terms of how they affected others. Right now...she just needed a drink. Or six.

"Hi," a voice had said. Poppy looked up.

"I'm Layla."

The intoxicated Poppy heard this new companion's name, and allowed poor judgment to seize the better of her. In her drunken state, she interpreted this woman's approach and name as a make-believe fantasy come to life—her own personal Layla, in her own mind. However, it was not make-believe, and it was not in her mind. Twenty-four dizzy hours later, Poppy had naught to show for her actions but a meaningless one-night stand, a severed relationship, and a bawling ex-girlfriend with a broken heart. To complicate things, when Gigi went her way, she took with her Poppy's will for new adventures. Nothing was really stopping her from doing these things, except for the wind having been knocked out from under her sails.

At the time, Poppy felt pretty heartbroken herself. This Layla she'd met at the bar was interested only in a cheap one-nighter with no further interaction. It was foolish and selfish, and like Layla, Poppy had taken without intent to give. But as she thought about it, giving of herself had never seemed to do Poppy much good. The world was full of takers. Cold individuals for whom giving was foreign and taking was status quo. Grown, and unwilling to allow her inner child to catch up, Poppy Eve Sorenson made a decision early on in her 20s. If being hard, cold and selfish...if looking out solely for number one was her task for survival in this world...then so be it.

Over the rest of her 20s, she trained herself out of the guilt of stepping on her fellow man to get more for her. When the position of SuCo Industries' corporate killer came along, Poppy saw the opportunity to drain all leftover humanity, and become the ultimate survivor. At 27, Poppy decided to put her adventurous aspirations aside, and join the hard, tough corporate world. It was there and then she'd meet Tammy Winkle, her comrade on the firing squad.

Tammy'd joined the company just a short time before Poppy arrived, and possessed the same ruthless killer instinct. Poppy and Tammy quickly developed the type of colleague camaraderie that entailed they trust each other, but virtually no one else. There was also something else Poppy liked about her. Tammy boasted an edgy "bad girl" sexiness that tickled Poppy's libido and riled her up. She wasn't girlfriend material, and Poppy knew better than to get involved with a co-worker. But this didn't stop her from conjuring up a juicy Tammy fantasy or two.

One of her favorites portrayed her as a newbie, with Tammy as evil superior, hazing her through a tough physical exam. She cleared the desk, made Poppy take off her clothes and climb on, propping herself on all fours. She heard the rubber glove snap! on, and felt Tammy proceed to force a cavity search on her. Poppy loved to imagine Tammy emotionlessly probing her, not concerned in the least for her comfort, safety or best interests. That was the way Poppy liked it. She was a sucker for the rough, sinister stuff. She loved the idea of fantasy rape. Depending on her mood, sometimes she summoned the same scenario, but put Tammy on the business end. If she really wanted to spice things up, she'd imagine Tammy actually found something while searching her. And instead of giving her the boot, Tammy would indefinitely blackmail her. Such taboo malice really did ignite Poppy like hellfire.

And the possibilities branched out limitlessly. She might imagine Tammy or herself mistreating a fellow employee using such methods, or any other which struck her fancy. Now and then she'd fantasize about firing someone with Tammy, and then forcing any number of tribulations upon their victim, simply to add insult to injury. Sacking an employee and following it up with a vicious, violent sexual coercion was out of bounds in real life. In Poppy's mind, it was a delight.

As she scanned her fantasy portfolio this early twilight, trying to decide which file to pull, she felt her pussy secrete under her jammies and lube itself up. Before the mondo bizarro incident she was trying to put behind her, they'd fired Suzy. Such a cute, young, vulnerable thing. Poppy smiled, bringing Suzy to her mind's eye, shutting her indigenous eyes as she slipped a bladed hand between her labia.

Well, Tam, we've broken her spirit and made her cry...whaddaya wanna do to her now?

Her tiny smile spread to an ear-to-ear grin as she considered options.

Then, a surprise dropped that was not part of the fantasy: an ascending and descending scale...of harp music. Poppy's eyes snapped open as her smile evaporated.

OH, no.

She whimpered, suddenly feeling like crying. She removed her hand from her cunt, maneuvered up to her knees, clasped her paws together and looked to the ceiling.

"God? It's Poppy again. I forgot something."

But there'd be no supreme intervention to save her tonight. Right on cue, the door opened, and in spun Anastasia, also in her jammies. Their sleepwear was another reflection of their auras. Poppy's pajamas were solid white, and Anastasia's were light blue, printed with cute little cartoon animals, and had footies. She covered her nose and mouth, yawned and gave a stretch, twirling in place.

"Oh!" the conscience announced. "I, am, bushed."

Poppy fell back down into the mattress, feeling tears coming. "What are you doing in my room??" she demanded.

"You should know a thing or two about that, Pop," Anastasia pointed out. "You really should get more shut-eye. Your body is a temple. Treat it right, it'll thank you for it."

"Good idea. Y'know what? You go to bed, and I'll smother you with a pillow, and then we'll both sleep like babies!"

Anastasia paid no heed. She merely fluffed up a pillow on the vacant side of the bed.

"You sure skedaddled from work in a hurry, babe," she remarked, lifting the comforter and climbing in beside Poppy. "I see I'm gonna need to keep a closer eye on you."

Anastasia settled in to get cozy. An incredulous Poppy snatched the pillow out from under her and began swatting her with it. "Get the hell out of my bed!" she ordered.

Anastasia, natch, took this as an invitation to play.

"Oh, goody; pillow fight!" she squealed, yanking Poppy's from under her and slinging back. Poppy swiped it and flung it across the room. She could see jilling off was out of the question. She was too tired now, and definitely no longer in the mood.

"Fine. I, am going, to sleep," she over-enunciated, hoping conscience-breath here would take the hint. "Good, night."

Poppy leaned back, shut her eyes and arched her back. She stretched, pulling up her jammie top, exposing a few inches of tummy. Anastasia grinned, reached quickly, and dug her fingers into Poppy's bared stomach.

"GITCHIE-GITCHIE-GITCHIE-GITCHIE-GI—!"

Poppy shrieked. She reflexively death-gripped Anastasia's wrists.

"Try that again..." she unamusedly warned, "...And I'll turn your hands into stumps, and distribute your fingers amongst your body crevices. Do we understand each other?"

She threw Anastasia's grubby little paws back at her, turned over and reached for the nightstand lamp. Anastasia made a sad puppy face and rubbed her wrists. She was a delicate conscience, and felt quite frankly a little injured. She did not like rough stuff.

Click. The light went out. Poppy and Anastasia found themselves in pitch-darkness.

"Just what are you implying?"

"Oh, well, why don't you tell me, Jiminy?"

"...Y'know, Poppy, this hostile attitude of yours is becoming increasingly tiresome. You would do well to heed my encouragings, and follow on the path of virtue and goodness."

"Oh, blahbbity blahbbity blah." Poppy stuffed her face in another pillow, placing atop her head the one she'd smacked Anastasia with.

"Poppy, I still don't think you get it," Anastasia called, raising her voice. "I'm not going away. You're not getting rid of me. If I weren't constantly on your shoulder, making you do the right thing, you'd be a rotten, nasty little person, and I'd be unemployed."

SIGH. That just about tore it. Poppy'd had way more than enough now. She ominously removed the pillow over her head, slammed it on the mattress with a plsh!, and sat up.

"OH-kay...much fun as this is, and as tolerant as I feel I've been with it...seriously, Anabanana, whatever your name...no kidding: stop it. Now, I-I know I've been a jerk, okay, and...I-I'm sorry, a'right? I'm...I'm gonna treat everybody a whoooole lot nicer. Got it? Enough is enough. Now, after everything I've just said, if you do not get out of my room within the next thirty seconds, I am no longer responsible for my actions."

Anastasia's voice responded from behind her. "As a matter of fact—clap on!..."

The lamp went on. Anastasia stood on her other side. Sitting in bed now facing nothing, Poppy's eyes were stung by the sudden light. The conscience gave the next command.

"...Pick up the phone. Call Dad."

Poppy covered and rubbed at her eyes.

"What?"

"Mm-hm," nodded Anastasia, the light not bothering her eyes at all. "He's our Daddy. He misses you. He hasn't gotten a chance to talk to you for a long time now."

"Ou—..." Poppy blinked, trying to maintain sanity. "...'Our Daddy'??...Wh—...what're you, my sister n—...l-look. Leaving aside for just a moment the fact that it's after midnight, and my father goes to bed at nine-freaking-thirty—"

Anastasia held up a hand. "Oh—not tonight." Her tone turned solemn. "The poor ol' fella's under the weather, Poppy. He hasn't been able to get to sleep. Mommy stayed up with him as long as she could, but she couldn't hold her eyes open any longer."

Poppy was finding it hard to believe that these words were penetrating her. "...What?"

"He's got a fever of a hundred and four."

Poppy felt her emotions being tugged. Something terrible dawned and settled upon her.

"...Oh my God, you...you've-you've gotta be screwing with my mind here, right?"

The conscience gravely shook her head.

"Mm-mm. He's been wanting to contact you for a long time now, but he knows how busy you are, Pop. He doesn't wanna bother you."

"...Oh, co—..." Sigh. "C'mon, gi—...gimme a break here, will ya?"

Anastasia sat back down, put an arm around Poppy and rubbed her shoulder.

"He's just sitting there at home, all alone, trying to nurse himself better...wishing more than anything he could speak to his only child right now, just so he could tell her how much he loves her. Maybe even hear her say it back. Even though, deep down inside, he knows it won't really happen." She shook her head once more. "...Poor silly old guy."

Poppy almost felt her heart crack. Her eyes pricked. She covered her ears. "Stop it!"

Anastasia gently pulled her hands away and continued.

"Poppy Eve Sorenson, do you know how precious you are to him?...Do you have any idea just how much he absolutely adores you, just because you're his daughter?...Oh, Poppy, it would mean the world to him. And it would only take you a minute. One single minute. Sixty seconds, to bring a father a lifetime's worth of joy!"

The now tearful Poppy heaved yet another sigh.

"...'Kay, look, i—...if I do this...will you please leave me alone?? At least for the night?!"

Anastasia placed a hand on her chin and tapped her cheek, humming as she pretended to think about it. Finally, she smiled.

"Why the heck not. You're gonna need some time to get used to this. And besides, no good deed should go unrewarded."

Poppy weakly surrendered. "...A'right, I'll do it."

Anastasia clapped excitedly. "Yay!! Here, I'll dial for ya!" She snatched up the phone and started punching.

"Hey, bu—no, no, wait a minute!" said Poppy. "Wha—...what'm I gonna say?"

Anastasia scoffed, tossing her hands. "'I love you'! Duh!" She gave her the phone.

Poppy held a dirty scowl on her, grabbing it as it began ringing on the other end. "I love you too, ya psycho," she snarled.

Anastasia returned her glare with an innocent smirk. "It's not nice to be mean, Poppy."

Poppy felt her blood heating. She gritted her teeth and made a fist with her free hand. She began to threaten her, but was forced to shift her tone as her father picked up.

"I'd like to belt you right in th—hi, Dad!...It-it's Poppy...yeah! Yeah, I...well, yeah, I've...um, I've m-missed you too...yeah, it, eh, has been a while...oh, well, thank you...well, I-I'm not really sure, Dad; something just told me you might be awake right now...y—...you are?..." She turned to Anastasia, gazing in disbelief. "...'Sick as a dog,' you say?...Well, I'm...I-I'm very sorry to hear that...w—...yes I am, Dad, I am too sad you're sick!..." She took a breath. "...I'm-I'm sorry, I...I shouldn't aggravate you when you don't feel good. I...well, th—...the point is, I just, uh..."

Oh, this was difficult. Poppy was not good at mushy stuff. She covered her mouth, trying to bring herself to say it. Her conscience became extra hopeful.

"...Well, I-I just...I just kinda wanted to tell you that..." Gulp. "...That-that I..."

Anastasia was wide-eyed. She held her fists to her heart, smiling big, whispering to her.

"Come on, Poppy, come on! You can do it!"

"...I lllll—..." Poppy finally gave in, letting her voice go soft and tender.

"I love you, Dad."

Anastasia rasped a silent "YES!!" startling Poppy and almost making her drop the phone. She threw her arms around Poppy with an extra loving squeeze, then let go.

"...Yeah, and-and..." Poppy continued, trying to push Anastasia off her. "...I, uh...I just wish I was there right now so I could take care of ya...right, well, y'know, drink your juice, get plenty of rest and all that...and, y'know, you'll...uh..."

She realized she was about to hit an emotional bump. Her voice cracked.

"...Get well soon, Daddy!" she cried, starting to weep. She almost sobbed for half a second, then pulled herself together.

"...Uh, yeah, well, anyway, get better as soon as possible, Dad; I want you to be healthy...oh, you're...you're welcome...okay...all right, well, I'm...I'm-I'm gonna go now, 'kay?...Yeah, good night, try to sleep well...yeah...I...llllove you too, Dad...bye-bye."

She hung up, and collapsed. One moment later, she felt her conscience pat her knee.

"That made me so very happy," praised Anastasia. "I am so proud of you."

Poppy clutched her head. "Dear God, what is happening to me??"

"Poppy, don't you get it?...You're becoming human!"

Poppy dropped her hands and stared at her.

"Listen up, pipsqueak, news flash: I am not Pinocchio!"

"Poppy!..." Anastasia hopped back off the bed. "Can't you see?? For the first time in your adulthood, you allowed yourself to be vulnerable! You let down your guard! It was wonderful! Sure, you tried to be your grown-up, tough-as-nails self, but you couldn't stop it; your true colors came shining through! That's why I love you!"

Poppy paused, and made a matter-of-fact statement out loud to no one.

"I'm being humbled by Cyndi Lauper. My conscious mind is torturing me, and my guardian devil's citing a pixie from the '80s."

"Small steps, my friend, small steps." Anastasia gave another stretch. "Well...

"A promise is a promise." She fetched the pillow Poppy'd flung across the room, fluffed it, and returned. "Up."

Poppy lifted her head, and Anastasia slipped the pillow under it. She pulled the blanket over her, proceeded to tuck her in nice and snug, and was off.

"Rest up, killer," she advised. "Got all those nice folks to throw overboard tomorrow!"

Poppy let her eyes close. "Thanks for the encouragement."

"Sweet dreams, honey!"

"Sweet dreams, Satan."

Anastasia tippy-toed out of the room, and Poppy was alone. She had to ask herself if that last half hour actually just happened. It all started to seem too surreal. She felt so weary and mixed up, she didn't know what to do but go to sleep. The lamp was still on. She reached to turn it off. Then she stopped and looked around.

The room was empty. Curiously, she turned back to the lamp.

She softly and hesitantly clapped her hands. "...Clap, off."

Nothing happened. She tried a little louder.

"CLAP, off."

Nothing. Poppy waited just another moment, and let her eyes roll back in her head, realizing just how absurd the situation had become. She reached for the cord, resting her other hand on her forehead.