Table Of ContentWillBelegon,PetulaCaesar,SarahDickson,andStella&AudraPrice
Fantasies II
FourTalesofEroticFiction
by
Will Belegon, Petula Caesar, Sarah Dickson,
and
Stella & Audra Price
2
PhazeFantasiesII
Phaze
6470AGlenway Avenue,#109
Cincinnati,OH 45211-5222
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are
eithertheproduct oftheauthor'simaginationorare usedfictitiously, and
any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations,
eventsorlocales isentirely coincidental.
eBookISBN 1-59426-530-5
FantasiesII© 2007byWill Belegon,Petula Caesar, SarahDickson, and
Stella&AudraPrice.
Allrights reserved underthe International and Pan-American Copyright
Conventions. No part of this bookmay be reproduced ortransmitted in
any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including
photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval
system,withoutpermissionin writingfrom thepublisher.
Coverart ©2006byAlessia Brio
EditedbyAlessiaBrio andKathrynLively
PhazeisanimprintofMundaniaPress,LLC.
www.Phaze.com
3
WillBelegon,PetulaCaesar,SarahDickson,andStella&AudraPrice
Table of Contents
Mixed Blessings 5
Rebirth 81
Love's Fortune 100
Lady Luck 160
About the Authors 216
4
PhazeFantasiesII
Mixed Blessings
by Will Belegon
5
WillBelegon,PetulaCaesar,SarahDickson,andStella&AudraPrice
Also by Will Belegon
withAlessia Brio
Amichu
ArtiFactual
SanDiego Sunset
Switch
6
PhazeFantasiesII
Chapter One
For the first time in my life, I welcomed the distraction of
turbulence. As the plane bumped and bounced, I told myself the rough
ridewas a metaphor for the last five years;that I was gettingoff at JFK
withalltheother passengers,and thatI hadn'tlostmymind.
"Areyoualright, sir?Can Igetyou anything?"
The flight attendant's kind words caught meoff guard and drewme
outofmy introspectivedaze.
The apprehension must have snuck through to show on my
expression. By itself, this was evidence of how unsettled this trip had
me.I wasn't nervous about the bumpy ride. After years in the business,
myfearofflyinghad longsince fadedintoa moregeneralannoyance.
"No, thank you, I'm fine. It's not the turbulenceon the outside that
hasmeworried."
"Oh?Something at our destination? Thatsurprises mecoming from
a man like you." She gave me a look that wasn't about coffee or tea.
"Well,if youneed me,please letmeknow…right away."
Theway shesaid it wouldnormally drawaflirty responsefromme.
I am completely incorrigible in that regard. On that day, I was too
distracted; too worried about finally meeting one beautiful woman to
flirtwith the oneright in frontofme.I couldn'tquitegetoverthe chance
Iwastaking.
Iwas onmy waytomeetAngie. Sheand Iwereintroducedat a time
when I was completely unmotivated to flirt with even the prettiest of
girls. My agency was working on a deal to purchase an out of state
vacation home. Angie was the paralegal acting as lead for the seller
througha largeNew York firm. When things began to bog down onthe
details,my clientaskedmeto getpersonallyinvolved.Hewasa valuable
client;Icouldn'trefuse.
Her attitude and competence impressed me immediately. She was
sohelpful thatafterwe finished thedeal,Isent hera bottleofwineand a
7
WillBelegon,PetulaCaesar,SarahDickson,andStella&AudraPrice
card asking her to stay in touch. At first it was just about having a
contact in the city. I hated New York and avoided it at all costs. The
morepeopleIknowthere, the better.
I started using Angie's firm to do business in the area. The only
stipulationwasthat she remainedmy contact. Shewastheteamleaderas
farasI wasconcerned, even when peopletechnically hersuperiors were
handlingthe actualtransactions. At first itwasbecause she knewherjob
and was able to roll with the punches inherent to my line of work. As
time went on, our relationship continued because I grew to trust her. So
didmy clients. She had qualities that putthem at ease. Soon, theywere
theonesaskingfor her.
Theother reasonwassubtler. Indeed,I didn'tnoticeitconsciously.
One day, Iput thephone downafter a conversation with Angie and
walked out of my office to get a cup of coffee. The expression on my
secretary's face stopped me short. I gave her my best quit-fooling-
around-and-earn-your-money stare, and it justcreateda wider grin.So I
gave her my meanest scowl. She burst into laughter. Not the reaction I
hadbeen lookingfor.
"Gabrielle,what areyoulaughing at?"
"You,boss.I'veneverseenyou likethisbefore.Ilikeit."
"Justwhatthehell areyoutalking about?"
"I'veneverseen youhappy before."
I didn't know whatto say to that, so I justshook my head and went
to get my coffee. Sitting at my deska few momentslater, I reflected on
Gabrielle's words. She had been with my agency five years. Five years
andshe hadnever seenmehappy? Thatcouldn'treallybetrue,couldit?
I focused onthe lasttimes that stood out as"happy"to me.It didn't
take much for me to see the pattern and to realize that theyall featured
onething.They werealltimes Ispentwith Kim.
A thousand times I'd told myself I was over her and a thousand
times I'd lied. It wasn't just that she left; it was the way she left. I had
alwaysbeen one ofthoseguyswho felt thatthe wholeconceptofclosure
was overrated. I considered it part of my personal rebellion against
sentimentality; the same rebellion that kept me with her for ten years
without ever feeling the need to get married. That had backfired big
time.
What I believedanexample ofthe strengthofour relationship,Kim
had apparently come to view as evidence that I was unwilling to place
8
PhazeFantasiesII
limitsonmy freedom. Sure,we discussed the reasonsnot to getmarried
a million times: my travel schedule, the hours I kept, the lack of desire
for children on both our parts, and the advantages of keeping our
incomes and assets separate even after we had been living together for
several years. I thought that we were in complete agreement on the
matter.Likeso manyotherthings with Kim,thetruth hadseverallayers.
One night, five years ago, I sat at LAX and waited for a ride that
never came. We'd gone over my itinerary one last time just two days
before, with her confirming that she would be there when the plane
landed.My first hintshould have been the messagethat her cellnumber
was nolonger in service, but I just figured there was something wrong
withthenetwork. Afterthreehours,Ihaileda cab.
Our house in Malibuwas dark when the cab pulled up the circular
driveway. Idragged my bagsout and, aftergiving thecabbie a generous
tip, he helped carry my things to the door. The only light in the foyer
wastheblinking redfromthe answeringmachine.Four messages, which
bymy countmeant theywere allme.
"Kim?KIM!Baby,are youhere?"
I knew she wasn't before I called out. I knew what I would find
whenI enteredthebedroom, beforeIsawthe emptycloset.Ishould have
knownbythe factthat Ihad been homemorethanthirtyseconds without
thedamncat trippingme up.
I tore through the house, looking for anything that would tell me
this wasn't happening. A note, a letter. A phone number scrawled on a
pieceofpaper orthe receiptfroma travelagency. I foundher cellphone
and the garage door opener. Her car was gone, as was the Coach
luggage. She had been so thrilled about getting itbefore our last trip to
Paris. There was one phone number I didn't recognize. I dialed it and
listened to the Salvation Army's recorded message for its 24-hour
donationcenter. Thatwaswhenitreallyhit me.Shewasgone.
Iwent totheliquor cabinet,pulled outabottleof18-year-oldscotch
and started drinking it like itwas icedtea. Somewhere in the wee hours
of the morning the alcohol entered me faster than I could sob it out. I
passed out on the couch, her phone in one hand and the bottle in the
other.
The nextmorning, I crawledto theshower. When thehot waterran
out,Isteeled my nerveand begantakinga moredetailedinventory.
She had been methodical. Pictures that didn'thave mein themwere
9
WillBelegon,PetulaCaesar,SarahDickson,andStella&AudraPrice
gonefrom our photo albums. Keepsakesthat she had been fond ofwere
missing. Our past was still here, but her past had disappeared. And no
placewasthereanyhintofwhere shehad gone.
It took six weeks for her to contact me. Six tortuous weeks, during
which I worked through every possible scenario. I checked every
hospitaland rehab center withina hundred miles. Icalled in favors with
the police department and talked a broker friend into running a credit
check on her. I never actually sat up at night and called hotels, but I
thoughtaboutit.
Gabriellewashired duringthosesix weeks.
Because of the timing, and because our ways of treating each other
wereforged during thattime, Gabriellehad becomesomethinguniquein
my life: a woman that I neither flirted with nor lied to. She was almost
myconscience. She kept apartfrommy games and offeredadvice onmy
romanticlifeonlywhen asked.
It wasn't like Ihad been celibategoing onsix years.After tenyears
ina townand a businessthat threwsexaround likedevaluing currency,I
finallystarting spending.In allthe time Kimand Iwere together, Inever
sampled the forbidden pleasures that were thrust at me. A few months
after she left, anger and a twisted sense of revenge pushed away that
reluctance. Suddenly, I wanted to taste it all. But none of the crazy
things orgorgeous women I triedcame close to Kim. Sheblew themall
away.
It wasn'tthat Kim had been prettieror more adventurous. True, she
had firstcome tomy attention as a model.But Kim and I had something
Ihad never found with anyone else: a chemistry,a need.We couldn'tbe
alone in a room together without finding a corner to make out in, even
afterten years.No other womanaffected me thatway; noteven any two
or three. That powerful, raw desire was lacking. Among other things. I
didn'tinvestany ofmyselfinthem.
It was like a wall had been erected between the places in my
psyche. A weekend in Vegas? Sex in a limo on the way back from the
StaplesCenter? Sure.Touchmy heart?Nofuckingway.
So when Gabriellesaid thatI wasdifferentaftertalking toa woman
Ihad neveractuallymet?From anyone else,I wouldhave blownit offas
purefancy.But notfromher.I tooka deeperlookat my ownbehavior.
It didn'ttake melong to concede that she was right. WhenI picked
up the phone and it was Angie, my voice changed. It got lower and
10
