Community by Graham Masterton Page A

…’
    Isobel picked up the doll, opened the closet door, and pushed her inside.
    â€˜That’s where she goes at night, because I don’t like the idea of her staring at me when I’m asleep, especially with those shiny black eyes.’
    She came back over to Michael, and started to unbutton his dark blue shirt.
    â€˜You can remember yesterday evening, can’t you?’ she asked him.
    â€˜Of course I can. I don’t think I’ll ever forget it so long as I live.’
    â€˜There you are, then. You may have lost your old memories but already you’re making fresh ones. Even if your previous life is only names and photographs, your new life is real.’
    She took off his shirt, and then she pulled his T-shirt over his head, so that his hair stuck up. She ruffled it, and kissed him, and said, ‘You look about sixteen years old with your hair like that.’
    â€˜Oh, thanks.’ He nodded toward the bed and said, ‘I hope that doesn’t mean I’m too young to … you know.’
    She unbuckled his belt and pulled down his jeans. Then she raised her arms so that he could lift off her light gray cable-knit sweater. Underneath she was wearing a lacy white bra through which her nipples showed like two pink rose-petals. He slid the catch apart and her breasts swung free, heavy and soft. He cupped her right breast in his hand, and rotated the ball of his thumb around her crinkling nipple, but even though she was so aroused, she felt surprisingly cold.
    â€˜You’re freezing,’ he said. ‘Let’s get under the covers.’
    â€˜Unh-hunh, I’m fine. And this is
my
bed, so we’re going to do what
I
want to do.’
    She pushed him so that he fell backward on to the quilt. Then she quickly dropped her short black skirt and stepped out of her tiny white-lace thong.
    Naked, she climbed on to the bed and climbed on top of him, until she was sitting astride him. He reached down to push off his shorts, but she gripped his wrist to stop him and said, ‘No, not yet.’
    She leaned forward, staring into his eyes, until their noses were almost touching. She kissed him again and again, just lightly, and then she said, ‘Greg – it doesn’t matter if some things seem to be impossible. János Arany said, “In dreams and love, nothing is impossible.”’
    â€˜János Who? Never heard of him. Or if I have, I’ve forgotten.’
    Isobel kissed him again. ‘Arany. Famous Hungarian poet, 1817 to 1882.’
    â€˜I never had a history lesson in bed before.’
    â€˜How do you know? You have amnesia.’
    With that, she maneuvered herself up the bed until she was kneeling astride his face, her shins pinning his shoulders against the mattress. She reached down with both hands and opened the lips of her vulva, so that her clitoris protruded and he could see that she was brimming with clear juice. She looked down at him between her breasts as if she were a goddess on a mountain top and he were a mere mortal on the ground below.
    â€˜Go on, Greg,’ she coaxed him. ‘Taste me.’
    Tentatively, he licked her clitoris with the tip of his tongue. He licked it again and this time she shuddered.
    â€˜
Ohhhhh
,’ she breathed.
    He licked her faster and faster. Her clitoris stiffened, almost like the beak of a little bird. She closed her eyes and tilted her head back, and pulled herself open even wider. He pushed his tongue inside her as deeply as he could, and sucked, so that he could taste her. She tasted unusually sweet, but she was still quite cold, even inside.
    â€˜Don’t stop,’ she panted. She was holding on to the bedhead now, and she was so tense that she was hurting his shoulders. But he kept on flicking at her clitoris with the tip of his tongue, and her juice was running down his chin.
    There was a moment when he thought he would have to go on licking for hours. His shoulders were