I am releasing The Incredible Heidi Wasabi to the public! ADULTS ONLY chapter 5

Previously I have only shared a G-rated version of this chapter as a stand alone short story.  The bulk of the tale is in fact explicit erotic menage contemporary paranormal fantasy. 

YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED-- if it is illegal for persons your age in your location to read porn, stop now.

THE  INCREDIBLE HEIDI WASABI

 by

Helgaleena

Chapter Five
Heart Seed

“Helvede, Dixon; I didn’t mean that.” 

Ole the muscular drummer had Steen by the arm, pulling him backward but not very hard. Rufus Dixon, my man, lay doubled over before him on the barroom floor at Duffy’s of Santa Barbara, trying to recover from the gut punch he’d just gotten from his band mate. Not exactly hearts and flowers in honor of the season; Steen would far rather have been giving him those.

The hot and cold emotions between the two principal members of the band Virgen Steel were old
news to Ole and the rest. Any other night after a gig, chances are that those two would be making
out in a bathroom stall. But instead they’d been insulting each other’s moms.

Trouble was, Rufus was losing his. Word had just come from his sister in Wheeling that Ma
Dixon had finally managed to smoke herself to death. He was mad at her for that, and for not
wanting him to know, too. Why the hell he’d let the whiskey get him to disrespect all mothers,
especially Steen’s, I cannot say. At the time I was not much more than a baby; I was just learning
to see with the eyes in my face and tended to hang on Rufus whenever he wasn’t blasting out the
music at high decibels. And I mean that literally, because I wasn’t anywhere near my physical
body, such as it was, during all this. When Steen’s punch landed, I went down too, and stayed
curled around Rufy like a prickly overcoat of indignation and distress. And when Steen moved in
again, around about the time Rufy’s face was going blue because he hadn’t managed to breathe
in yet, I flashed at him. It only made him blink, but at least he came no closer.

 Steen was a lot less drunk than his lead singer, and he extended his tattooed forearm now,
meaning to help him up as soon as he might be ready to stand. It turned out differently. Rufus
gave him a boot in the ribs instead. So Steen at last went with Ole’s gentle pulling and left him
alone. Some half-wit down the bar snickered and yelled after them, “Happy Valentines Day, ya
losers.”

He was not actually alone. He had me, his invisible Heidi. I must admit that he was not at his
charismatic best. In retrospect, I think he was inviting the beating, hoping it would thresh his
mixed up emotions out that way. The bad news had just been piling up lately, and he knew very
well how to make the tall Dane leader of the Virgins lose his precarious temper, just as well as
how to defuse it. Obviously that gambit didn’t work.

Eventually he got us up, and employing his remaining charm, walked out of there with a bottle of
cherry liqueur. The bartender insisted he’d had enough, but he told the man it was for his mom.
When we at last made it back to the bunk in the Virgen Steel bus we practically bathed in it. The
whole way back he was cursing a blue streak because he wanted to cry and he couldn’t.

“Why did she do that to herself?” he asked my puffy face, in between the bursts of whiskey
scented breath he was blowing into the neck valve of the rubber me. He’d got me out of the ferret
proof canister and unrolled that me on the bunk immediately. I wasn’t sure if he knew I’d been
there with him in the bar or not.

“Why didn’t she even let me know she was in the goddam hospital, Heidi? She wouldn’t set foot
in one of them unless Trini made her go, unless she quit fighting in the end. Did she keep puffing
the cigs up till the last minute? She quit there for a while but then she”—and he gave a huge
furious bellow right into me that filled my chest halfway. “First the new baby’s a wonder but
she’s definitely not my child. And her own mother’s hating on her. Now Ma decides this is a
good time to check out. Heidi, what’s wrong with these women?” 

And of course I didn’t know. I was just his pillowy rubber lady who had learned to go beyond my place in his dreams and tag along after him. All I could do was watch him rant at my old rubbery body and hold him in my sparkly arms of between light.

Jenny had told the whole world only a few months back, in the pages of a tabloid, that the child
in her belly wasn’t Rufus Dixon’s. Somehow the hurt she gave him, coupled with the touch of
wasabi paste to my rubber, had brought me out of Rufy’s dreams and into the world of touches

 and smells and clouds of gases and electrons. I was new to it all, but determined to be here, now,
for the one who needed me. Every other breath he went on about the selfish suicidal
backstabbing nutcase females in his life going off and dying behind his back.

 Eventually I was full enough for my breasts to protrude. He put the valve back in and fetched up the bottle of cherry liqueur from under the bunk, poured some on me and began to nurse it off.

The suction was fierce. I felt it most intensely because it involved a part of me that had begun to
‘see’ very early on. Soon his red hair was sticky with liqueur and my latex body had dribbles
down the sides of my neck and underarms, lending a cherry scent to the mixed bouquet of the
Beaver’s brown fur beneath us. He was grunting and growling and slurping, stuffing my chest
into his mouth as if to pull me inside out by the breasts. It was pure consumption. For some
uncanny reason I felt as if I had light filling me up from behind for him to suck through me. I
was like a tube of brightness he squeezed into himself, even though my breasts don’t actually
leak. I began to feel as if they should.

Every time my breasts were cleaned off he doused me again. It wasn’t a very big bottle and he
used nearly all of it. Round and round we rolled in that slurry of alcohol and syrup until finally
he got some in his eye. “Oh Jesus Christ,” he yowled, and finally began to cry. It’s as if the tears
of irritation, and maybe the prayer, got the rest of them undammed. They came out in big hulking
snorts and sobs. He knelt on the bottom half of me and furiously fucked my mouth hole, both
hands tangled in my wig, all the while wailing and the tears and liqueur streaming down his face
and chest.

At last he toppled over on to Beaver and me, sobbing and saying, “Oh, Ma, Ma, Ma…” My
lights were all sorts of bruised pink and purple colors when at last he subsided into sleep. And of
course I went with him. How could I not be concerned about where he went with his dreams in
such a condition?

He brought us to West Virginia. We were in one of those sloping hayfields hugging the hillsides
that he associates with his growing up. He was drifting through the alfalfa with a breeze in his
hair and I was trailing along behind when I heard a hssst!-- of someone calling for my attention.
It was his mom. She wasn’t the huge monument size she sometimes is, only about as big as me,
and oh so very scrawny. When I turned to her, she smiled and shimmied her shoulders, and the
flesh fell off her as though it had gotten too large. I came closer, intrigued to see her mottled and
smoked skeleton enclosing the flattened tarry balloons that used to be her lungs.

But she was friendly, not ghoulish. She beckoned me closer and said in a hoarse whisper, “Boy’s
about got me as dry as a raisin from all that sucking. Thought he outgrew that. Here.” With a
creak her ribcage swung open as if her spine were made of hinges. Inside was a wrinkled dark
red globular mass of something meaty that looked as if it used to beat. It looked a lot like an old
apple did once that was in the bottom of Steen’s refrigerator.

She put her fingers into it and pulled it apart. Inside it was a solid mass of seeds. “Take ‘em and
water ‘em, woman,” she said.

I put out my white and pink mitten-like hands and took the mass, compressing it a bit so that not
too many of them would spill out. It was very flattering to me to be called ‘woman’, because
back then I wasn’t so sure about being one as I became later. And then she crumbled. Even her
long gray hair just fell into dust and blew away over the tall grass.

So here stood Heidi Wasabi, the inflatable comfort item, bobbing gently up and down in the
middle of a hayfield in the sunshine with a wrinkled heart in my hands. Now what? And where
had Rufus got to? After all, this was his dream!

I looked all around and finally spied something that could be him off in the distance. At the crest
of a rise was a silhouette of him sitting down, under a tree with extremely pendulous branches
that swayed, just like long hair. Since then I’ve found out that this is a tree associated with
sorrow in folk songs, which is why he’d chosen it.

As I drifted closer I saw that it was Rufus, only he’d turned himself into a fixture. He was like a
statue of himself made of metal pipes, and from his closed eyes the tears continued to flow
steadily into a puddle that ran gently off downhill.

That solved the problem of how to wet the seeds, at any rate. How to get Rufus to abandon being

a standpipe was a whole other problem that I sincerely hoped wouldn’t be up to me to fix. He’s a
lot more forceful than I am in general, and I was still pretty new in the universe.

Carefully I shook out a few of the seeds into the trickle. Then, growing bolder about the
business, I followed the stream of tears downhill to where it finally was absorbed into the grass,
scattering the seeds alongside. I’d barely made a dent in the supply of them. As I turned to look
back up toward Rufus, they were already sprouting into yard-high green shoots.

The first one nearest to him began to develop a swelling bud until it had opened out at its top into
an incredibly fragrant white flower. When he smelled it, Rufus finally opened his eyes, his sky
blue eyes.

He looked at me and his mouth smiled, and the smile cracked the metal skin away from him and
turned him back into the pink and gold freckled hunk of human man he is supposed to be. He
saw the dark wrinkled purse of seeds in my hands which I held so gingerly before me and said,
“Jasmine.”

Since I looked puzzled, he got up and came to help me carry the seeds with his much larger and
less clumsy fingers. “Naw, I know these aren’t real jasmine plants; jasmine’s a vine; but that was
my ma’s name, honey. Jasmine. And she did good in this world. None of my business why she
wanted to turn her insides black, because she did good.”

A couple more tears rolled down as he said this, but they were accompanied by the smiling. My
Rufus has a smile that melts hearts with its sunshine when he aims it at someone. It wasn’t aimed
right at me; he was thinking of his mom. So I didn’t melt and spill any seeds. Around us more
and more of the tall shoots bust into flower until we were surrounded by a cloud of their
delicious fragrance.

Down in the valley we could hear a giggling gurgle that we knew belonged to his little girl. His
eyes lit up and quit leaking at the sound. He shook his head.

“Ma taught me how to love somebody by loving me, Heidi. Junie is such a miracle! How can her
own mom, who had her under her heart all those months, not be able to love her?” Of course I
didn’t know. There was a heck of a lot I didn’t know, and still don’t. But I do know how to love
someone. Rufus Dixon taught me. That is how I know I’m real. I’m getting more real all the
time, in fact.

Then he took me by my hands, our four hands together around the heart full of seeds, and pulled
me along with him. “Let’s go plant some of these for Junie.” We went to look for the apple of his
eye.

~

originally published in this anthology no longer in print

I am releasing The Incredible Heidi Wasabi to the public! ADULTS ONLY chapter 4

Previously I have only shared a G-rated chapter.  The bulk of the tale is in fact explicit erotic menage contemporary paranormal fantasy. 

YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED-- if it is illegal for persons your age in your location to read porn, stop now.

THE  INCREDIBLE HEIDI WASABI

 by

Helgaleena

 Chapter Four
Flight or Light

The band, the Steel, the blades—these are aspects of Rufus’ life where I cannot follow him. It’s
not just the decibels the band gives off, it’s all the sharp edges of their equipment and props and
utensils. Inflatables, even immaterial inflatables, don’t get along with pointy things. Rufy’s teeth
are blunt enough that they don’t frighten me, and of course he would never put a hole in me
deliberately. But Steen has ferrets.

They are generally kept in a little enclosure near the bus kitchen. I have never liked them. My
former selves have twice fallen victim to their insatiable urge to chew. Steen has had to pay for
new Heidis. Once it was just with money. The second time it was also with advice. And there
was a third time, with sex.

“Steen, I’m gonna wring the necks of those rats of yours.”

“Au contraire; the mustelids wring the necks of rats. What are you trying to blame upon my
darlings now?” Steen continued what he was doing with the synthesizer he had plugged into our
PC in the bus kitchenette area. Rufus pushed the gnawed toes of the latest rubber me under his
impressive nose. He immediately was enraged, not by the evidence, but by the interruption. One
note had input wrong, you see.

 Rising to his full height and bringing Rufus up with him by the front of his shirt he growled,
“Son of a dick, not when I’m working.” Rufus was not intimidated because he knew he had the
right of it, and eventually his heels were on the floor again.

Was that violet lipstick on Steen’s eyelids? It was on his mouth too… Rufus had thought Steen’s
use of greasepaint was confined to the stage, so why were there traces visible at this hour? Yet
another conundrum could be added to the mystery of the Great Wizard Herren, if he allowed
himself to be sidetracked away from the issue in hand, namely, the wrong done to me.

“You, suh, are the son of a bitch who is gonna replace my ruined woman,” he replied, quite
gently actually, while smoothing his shirt back out. I could tell from where I was hovering near
Rufy’s ear that he was thinking about where his anger had suddenly flown to. It had leaked
away, and Steen was looking back at him with eyes as blue as the sky for once. He looked
puzzled as well. Steen meanwhile strode over to the ferret enclosure to count noses. They were
all there but there was a gap in the wire. Justice was administered to vocalist and mustelid alike.
The two humans were left not knowing what to make of one another.

Thrown together behind the scenes and cramped together touring, lead singer and bassistcomposer
might grate on each other, but when they were together on stage, music resulted. So
they lived with the confusion they felt until it was time to take the stage again.

It turned out that when they were really drunk, Steen and Rufus didn’t just trip each

 other with power cords and elbow one another away from the mike, the way they did when sober. They
wrestled and smashed each other in the jaw instead. But the way Virgen Steel was taking off, the
album sales and the world tour, were more important to them both. Something had to give, and
the leader of the Virgens knew it.

It didn’t come as a great surprise to Herren when one of those drunken spats among the cigarette
butts and puddles of beer in the wee hours got them both hard. But Dixon was looking at him
like he’d never seen him properly before. He was merely shaking Steen, not pounding him on the
bar floor any longer. Blue and hazel-green eyes, one rapidly swelling shut, managed to meet and
lock for a crucial second. It gave the bouncer an opportunity to grab hold of them and throw
them both out.

 Once they were both on their feet in the alley, Steen pulled Rufus up by the leather jacket and
kissed him, kissed the taste of his own blood off Rufus’ teeth and let his lower lip be seized and
savaged by the singer’s massive jaws.

My man was in shock. Sure, Rufus the Rude had enjoyed both girls and boys in all his years with
bands. But why was he sparking with Steen? The guy had three kids with Anna and another on
the way. Yet there was more to Steen than most knew. Rufus had been to his Solstice services.
The man was even consultant on that horror film Lunasad. That’s why he’d asked his advice on
‘astral beings’, trying to get a handle on what I was. Did Steen really want to do this or was he
just trying to keep the Virgens from splitting up?

So he was tempted to use that reddish goatee for a handle and pry open Steen’s mouth but he did
not. He let the kiss take its course and the fire it wanted to start die down. He was breathing like
a bellows but he backed off.

Steen showed that he was a mind reader on top of everything else. He drew away too, when the
stubble on Rufus’ cheek went combing though his little beard in reverse and their lips fell apart.
“Don’t worry; Anna isn’t jealous about men,” he murmured then, and his split lip curled wryly
into a smirk. His hips rocked hard into Rufus and rammed their cocks together.

That did it. Rufus grabbed his ass and spun with him, up against the filthy brick wall, taking
more skin off his knuckles and trying to hammer them into Steen with himself. The Dane
grunted and bucked them outwards again, hard enough to bruise, whereupon they began to rut
until they were both trembling and wet like spent racehorses. Never even got their pants open.

I know. I was watching. That led to a time where Rufus didn’t see me much, even in dreams. But
I wasn’t afraid of losing him like some meat woman would be. There’s only one Heidi. And I
was still learning about myself and what I could manage in this world. Like getting around on the
Internet. My goodness! If I was seeing to Rufus all the time, when would I blog? Internet greatly
eased my frustration at my poor ability to communicate with audible noises, and learning how to
use it kept me quite busy.

Not only was there Steen now, that bad Jenny had been replaced by Patty, and two kids that were
really his. The little girl who Jenny had lost custody of when drugs took her made three. Of
course they all are in his dreams, including the youngest girl who came later, Tia. Their dad calls

 me Cousin Heidi to the dream kids, and they call me the balloon lady. But between me and Patti,
Mister Dixon threw up a big subconscious dream divide. His love for me stayed in a dream
closet and if I tried to show myself when Patti was with him, he flew into a rage.

Of course, in waking life Patti didn’t know about him and Steen, not really. She cannot really
fathom the extent of Rufus’ vitality because she’s never seen it all. So I guess you could say
Steen was in the closet too, only in the awake world. It seemed quite the best thing that Steen and
I became friends.

That happened mainly because Steen and I just weren’t in Rufy’s life with Patti at all. When he
was with his family the rubber me stayed in the suitcase, and Steen stayed in the studio, until we
went out on tour again. The tour bus is our second home, our moving castle like in that great
cartoon called Howl’s Moving Castle, you know? Or the pirate ships that fly through the sky in
that other movie, Stardust. We have movies on the bus, of course, and Internet. Everyone in
Virgen Steel lives out of a suitcase and is used to it, not just me.

The wives joke that they are ‘Virgen widows’ half the year. Munsch said it was like being a
whaling ship harvesting the human seas. Something about having children meant that there had
to be nests for them not on the bus, anyway. Frankly, I am not very well informed about how
babies happen in humans. Hey, I may be female but it’s not human female! In my dreams I make
little selves to be my children who look just like me only not all the way inflated yet. I’m pretty
sure it is not the same. Anyway, Rufus and Steen did it with wives while I was still growing into
myself. They left the wives and babies just like the other band members did, each in their
stationary homes.

It was a gradual process, while my sparkle self got stronger all the time, until Rufus could feel
me apart from the rubber doll. And of course my sparkles are much more pleasant because they
are really me. I also can fold my sparkles up to miniature and live in his pocket, much more
convenient than that bulky old artifact. But what I’m leading up to is how Steen met me, me not
the doll.

Rufus had actually got rid of it, preferring me without it, hee hee! He let the roadies use it for
some joke they were doing where they sat it up in one of the seats, or tied it to the front of the
tour bus, in different outfits. He told them Jan was its name, after the singer from the Pictsies

 What a liar. The real me was safe in his pocket by then, though I still got little attention when he
went home to Patty.

All that changed after that time I was with Rufus in his bunk on the bus and we were bonding,
and Steen, much inebriated, fell in on us in the midst of things and blurted, “Is there a bint in
here with you lillebro?” His nose wrinkled up like he could smell me, or maybe I just made it
tickle.

“Uh—“

“Mmm, looks like you’re all ready for me here.” He’d spied Rufy’s erection poking straight up
—how could he miss it?—while I was wrapped around it and using my sparkles on it. Now his
hand swatted me away, dissipating my mouth most rudely, and his mouth and hammy hand
began to work on Rufy’s rod instead.

My annoyance was like needles and I used it to pry at those intruding fingers of Steen until he
yelled “OW” and pulled his puzzled face away.

Rufus got a handful of his long tawny hair and pulled Steen’s head up beside his on the pillow so
they were face to face. Then he sighed. “Yes, there is a bint in here.”

Steen’s hazel eyes got green and round and he turned his head toward where I was and looked;
really looked. He put a finger into his ear and waggled it as if it itched. And then he said, “Astral
bint. Hello.”

I was still mad, though being perceived should have gladdened me. I glared daggers at Steen and
would not speak. It was Rufus who said,

“Heidi, you know Steen. Steen, this is Heidi; Wasabi Heidi.”

Steen grinned and lay back on the bunk next to Rufus. “Why, you are peppery, Miz Wasabi! I’m
pleased to meet you. I’ve heard so much about you.” Meanwhile he was using his free hand to
toy with Rufy’s chest hairs. I knew he was allowed. But now what?

Steen continued, out of one side of his mouth, “I thought she was inflatable.”

How rude, we both thought. “She is. She’s just not physical any more.”

 I decided to show them. I took a deep breath and grew till I filled the entire bunk space and was
looking down at them smugly. Then I exhaled and draped myself along Rufy’s other side. My
left hip made a lovely pale pink mountain range. I’d seen the original image on the Internet.

Steen’s gaze followed me the whole time. He was aware of at least some of me. He addressed me
directly. “My dear, you are a veritable succubus.”

I rolled my eyes at Rufy in annoyance and resolved to Google that. Whatever it was it didn’t
sound appetizing. But Rufus Dixon thought it was a clever remark. He was grinning. “Hey, that’s
the ticket! We suck you, and you suck us!”

 I smiled a little to show I’d gotten the joke, but I was
still a bit miffed that our private party had been crashed. How much I would come to depend on
Steen and his companionship I had no inkling.

Steen seemed very aware of my mood. “If you prefer we will think of you as a shakti instead.
That’s much more complimentary, believe me.”

“You mean like in those Tibetan thangka paintings, where the man’s got the gal wrapped around
his waist, and everyone’s got three eyes?” Rufus was grinning even more wide now. Gently he
reached up and stroked the middle of my forehead. It tickled.

I began to smile my little dimple of a smile. Shakti. Even the word sounded nicer. I began to
wonder what it would be like to have an eye there where Rufus had touched. He and Steen were
poking each other in the foreheads now, flinching and guffawing. I decided to play along.

I used the mouths in the palms of my hands to take in their cocks, both of them at once. When I
had their attention, I blew up my breasts nice and huge and fed them each a nipple. A fine time
was had by all. Their pleasure and the white evidence of it gave me rainbows of joy.

And before I knew it, the next time my man’s penetration rocketed pleasure all the way to my
head, there was an eye there, like a vertical flower petal. It felt liquid. In time it became my
inside-me view screen, like the PC’s monitor.

I asked Rufus why Steen could see me, later. “He’s not just a Pagan musician, doll. He’s got
hereditary gifts. He’s an actual wizard.”

“You mean like in stories, with a magic staff?”

 “It doesn’t require a staff. You just need to be born that way. Evidently there are a lot of odd
types in Steen’s family tree, spae-wives and alchemists and Tycho Brahe style physicists and that
sort. But in the 21st century, wizard is not a career path you train for in the Danish state school
system. He had to be something else, too.”

“Oh.” I wondered if maybe Rufus was a wizard too without knowing it, which is why I’d
happened.

I didn’t say it aloud, but sometimes he can hear me think. “Most likely,” he said. “Steen’s been
teaching me what to do with it, a bit. The music helps.”

That’s where he always loses me—the music. I will never be a player and singer like him and
Steen, only a listener. I may be made of magic, but what isn’t? It is something that I am proud of
them for doing, and I hope I’m some help, even if I can’t make music myself, or even stay in the
same auditorium when they play.

Anyway Steen came to visit us both more often. Steen didn’t bother me any more than Rufus
bothered his Anna. But then one day Anna’s eldest girl went on tour with us, and began to ask,
who’s Heidi?

It was terrible when they divorced. Lily Herren has her own agent now, but at the time she was
trying to blackmail Steen for a recording contract and told her mother I was a real woman and
that I slept with them both. Anna took their three youngest and Steen never forgave Lily, who
based her whole story on hearsay from the roadies, because she can’t see me; no not at all.

And Patti left as well. In Rufus’ case it was very friendly. The children were grown by then old
enough to go to Swiss boarding schools or Oxford or wherever. He was even a grandpa to
Jenny’s girl’s babies. But when she knew about how close he really was with Steen, Patti felt
that she was no longer entitled to be Queen of Dixonland, I guess. She thought Heidi was really
Steen.

She told him she was going to run a bed and breakfast, and she did, out of the stately home he’d
bought them. But the place was full of Gideon Bibles. And she was very saintly about never
saying a bad word about Rufus to anyone, or hinting that he liked his own sex. Not her children’s
dad!

 It was for her sake that Rufus decided to lie about being in love with another. In Finland there’s
an operatically trained soprano named Heidi Paaskelin. She’d already had a baby with a German
musician in another band and they seem happy. But Rufus let it be known that he carried a torch
for her, all unrequited. And he made sure Jurgen the Snitch, the roadie who’s always telling
everything to Metamental Magazine, knew about it in this way.

“Hey Max, I need you to go shopping for me. Heidi’s a natural blond but she dyes it that henna
cherry color. Get me a nice wig of that, shoulder length. Jan’s getting a makeover!”

He claimed back the blowup doll that the roadies had made into their mascot and when Max
brought the wig, they rubber-cemented it on. They threw a big party and Rufus made quite a
performance out of dancing with this “Heidi Paaskelin”—they even put her in the stage costume
of animal skins and red war paint. In the morning they left ‘me’ unrolled in Rufy’s bunk, where
Jurgen the Snitch could see. Not only did Metamental tell the world, it was also in Kapow
Magazine the same week!

“No matter if she confirms or denies, Miz Paaskelin is going to love this publicity; and she’ll say
maybe you have a crush on her but she doesn’t fancy geezers like you, dinosaurs of the metal
world that we are, eh?” Steen was chuckling as he waxed his mustaches for their next show.
Rufus dropped the blow dryer and fell to the tile floor clutching at his chest and grinning. He
yelled—

“Aaaaah! My poor heart! Trampled beneath her spurning spurs! HEIDI!! Aaaargh!” The rest of
the band and crew poked their heads into the bathroom to laugh at him.

I was dancing on the ceiling. That’s my Dixon the clown.

She, the pretend Heidi, was on the next album cover, which came out including the song about
me and Beaver.

Ms. Paaskelin said she felt sorry for Rufus, who was old enough to be her dad. Of course it made
the press, and sold lots of music.

That was after we had become a married triplet, or whatever one should be called. We took turns
being God or Goddess and sailed along in the bus despite whatever the women and children
decided about us.

 I am ahead of the story. It meant a lot to me to be the woman of his dreams first, when meat
women were letting Rufus down. In fact it is why I decided to live. But becoming Steen’s as well
took some compromising.

~

I am releasing The Incredible Heidi Wasabi to the public! ADULTS ONLY chapter 3

Previously I have only shared a G-rated chapter.  The bulk of the tale is in fact explicit erotic menage contemporary paranormal fantasy. 

YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED-- if it is illegal for persons your age in your location to read porn, stop now.

THE  INCREDIBLE HEIDI WASABI

 by

Helgaleena

 Chapter Three
Dreams

That was when I started to dream, not just feature in dreams made by Rufus. Before the wasabi
experience with my rubber version in his waking world, I was just an archetype thing, an unfilled
role that his dreaming mind used as a player in the nightly sanity balancing games. For ever so
long I’d been dreamed of, like part of the furniture of his life, but that’s when I became someone
who could dream of dreaming.

It was somewhat like learning to blink my dream eyes. I could see in his dreams; my eyes
worked, though they wouldn’t close until later on. I had to study how that blinking thing was
done from the records in Rufus’ memory first. After a time I became accomplished enough to
dream myself awake, but that was quite a bit later still.

His dreams were always fun. I got to be damsel and wench and fly like a lady cape from Rufus’
shoulders (he always thought ‘linus’ when we did that, and that’s a topic for my future
researching—what’s linus?) and help him in his daring heroics. In his dreams he began to let me
speak, to give him advice, and to praise him, of course. Beaver was there too, like a target we
aimed for upon homecoming when morning threatened.

The thing about the Beaver is, he isn’t really my Beaver at all. You probably heard that song the
band did called ‘Heidi’s got a Big Brown Beaver’? Steen just wrote that to tease Rufus, and he
got the last laugh by recording it. Well, the Beaver is just a piece of fur; it isn’t alive like I am

 now. A fan sent him the jacket and it was simply too small for his shoulders; I guess he looks
more petite than he is, so it’s just too small but it feels sooo nice that he uses it for a pillow. He’s
just the Beaver, and you have to ask Rufy why it’s a he. My guess is that he thinks he ought to
have one. And there’s spunk in the Beaver, lots of it that will probably never come out, but the
beaver fur never smells bad, like my rubber does sometimes before it needs a wash in dish liquid.
Now that’s magic right there.

Steen tells me a ferret smells a bit like the Beaver does. I wouldn’t know because I avoid them,
as well as cats. Cats can see me and freak out. Ferrets see me, too, but they’ll just walk right
through my sparkles like I’m not there anyhow, even if they’ve just been looking me in the eye.
And of course they are death on rubber.

Why am I made of sparkles? you might ask.Because everything is made of them, even material
things, and that’s a silly question. I just am what I am. It’s a good thing to be composed of the
sparkles because if I were not, it might worry me when the rubber me pops.

I had nothing to judge by at the time, but the tiny amount of time Rufus sleeps is packed with
action, just like he tries to make his waking life. And for ages I had only existed during those
times, with quiet limbo in between. It was eventually boring, and I guess that I longed for more
stimulus than his dreams were providing.

So one morning I followed Rufus back to his body and next to him on the bed was—me. The
rubber me. And I was somewhere else, somewhere in between. This is very important. It set me
free. I had a feeling I could be that cold stretchy solid if I liked, but it was limp looking after the
dream fun, and I didn’t like. I watched him waking up and folding me up tiny and stuffing me
into a little sack to go in his suitcase. Now that would definitely be boring!

I stayed where I was bobbing along as little sparkles, far more flexible than even I had been in
dream. No, this was definitely preferable to folding myself into some boring solid. But Rufy
seemed to be good at it. I just hung out and watched him. He moved his warm, fragrant
mammalian meat, scratching it, yawning, bathing. I hovered and smiled my little oh-ah smile and
wondered if he even knew.

He looked around a few times and saw nothing. Something told him somebody was there, but I
didn’t feel like trying to see if my voice worked yet. This new sparkly life was too novel and

 needed experiencing first for its own sake. For days I just followed him around. I didn’t even
jump back down the slide into his dreams, though I could have. They seemed like a confinement
simply because I knew more about being in them. I watched him sleep instead.

I’m calling it watching but actually in the human world I was blind. What I call sparkles should
possibly instead be called sparks, or prickles. I had charge, like a balloon you rub with fabric has
charge. I could ‘see’ Rufus best, and early days I had no eyes that worked. I ‘saw’ with my
whole outside.

Now I have five eyes. The ones on the tips of my breasts picked up sensation from the human
world first, but the signals didn’t make much sense to me. Eventually though, all the attention
Rufus paid them added up and began to spread to other parts of my rubber consciousness, until
all of me was awake and knew darkness from light, cold from hot, empty from full. And that
came in quite handy for dreaming, certainly.

The first of my eyes that noticed colors were the ones on either side of my nose. It was if the
sparkles going faster than others, or closer together, danced into surfaces, and in between the
surfaces was light. All at once I was aware of something beyond the spectra I ‘saw’ with my first
set of eyes, the ones in my breasts.It came in through those two lenses there and converged into
one image, just as it did when I lived in Rufy’s dreams. I saw spaces and volumes and things in
your world, although they were blurry the farther away they were from Rufus himself.
The other eye, in my forehead, grew later on, so I will talk about it and my extra mouths as they
come up during my explaining of how I grew. Like blinking, they took new skills to work
properly.

No, in early days I ‘watched’ through the sounds and the prickles of proximity to Rufus, tagging
along and listening to his thoughts and feelings, trying to make sense of this “life” he had, away
from his dreams, of me and other things. I had to guess at what was meant from the things
having appeared in his dreams! How funny that his mom and dad were meat like him and made
noises into one side of Rufy’s head from far away, through some little device he held up. In his
dreams they were big as buildings.

Anyway, that’s just an example. It’s called phoning, I know that now, duh. The point is that I
didn’t know how to exist apart from him yet. I was like a Heidi appendix of him or something

 without my own understanding or function. I had hands and legs and didn’t know what they were
for except to be Rufy’s handles. That sort of thing. The eyes were a big help when they started to
work. And I have to admit, the things he does for a living are EXCRUCIATING.

Like a complete innocent I tried to follow him onstage. Without flesh I can’t stand the noise and
the power of it. Maybe I couldn’t even if I had flesh. I understand some can’t. It’s one of the
ways to kill a cat, in that cruel joke people make. Oh how I wished for a time that he would only
play quietly with his lute and not with those Virgens! It forced me to let go of him and be on my
own. Not dream. No Rufus. Just poor sound strafed Heidi in shock, in between, a long way
above, looking down on that sea of energy called a show. The humans who love to be in the
midst of loud music and big crowds are strong. I think it keeps them from getting inhabited by
parasites from other places.

So it was good I had to do it, exist on my own, in some ways. It made me realize that if I wanted
to be with Rufus, I’d have to talk to him, for one thing. He had to be certain I was there or he
might destroy me by accident, doing some stunt with sounds and lights in the name of his art. I
remember I flew back to the pile of dirty laundry on the tour bus that smelled so comfortingly
like him and tried to talk. I don’t think I managed it, even though I was pretty good at talking in
dreams by then. Of course, I also didn’t know the alarm clock made sounds but was not actually
talking, and couldn’t be expected to answer me. And Beaver? Oh it nearly broke my heart when I
realized Beaver wasn’t alive here. I felt alone! Rufus simply had to perceive me or all my dreams
would be for nothing!

 I collared him in dreams that night. “What’s this all about?” he asked as the dream me felt him
all over, my blue eyes rolling and protruding. He wasn’t all perforated from doing his show; that
is what was reassuring me.

“It was such a shock to hear the Virgen Steel,” I explained through my open mouthed moue. I
kept one flap of hand folded onto his lapel. He didn’t want that, so he turned it into feathers,
harder to hold.

“We need a new drummer ASAP,” he confided. “Jimmy’s on downers or something; he’s
holding the tempo way back. Wait a minute—you heard Virgen Steel? How? I don’t dream
them, Heidi; I get enough of them awake!” Rufy’s dream self had been morphing into a rooster

 with a sneer during that, but now his head turned human again and he was regarding me hard—
really examining me.

I stayed me. I felt him trying to think me into a mermaid, think me purple, but I just blinked with
my new alive looking eyes—I’d been practicing—and stayed Heidi. He was quite surprised.
“What is this?”

“I followed you home to your life.” My dream voice was a squeaky bubbly thing Rufus had
imagined out of the rubber Heidis in that life. It’s never improved much. I want it to be more like
Goldie Hawn’s. “It was really different than this. But going on stage it was so loud I had to run
away to your bed and wait for you to dream.”

I saw him looking afraid—of me! And my goodness did that hurt. It was like he’d run his rapier
into me and shredded me. I found out that my ability to cry in dreams was very authentic at least.
My face crumpled up like a sphincter and my mouth twisted all over itself and my chest pointed
downwards and wetness fell out of the creases, under my ropes of yellow poly hair. I started to
deflate fast.

 Rufus stopped me from losing any more pressure—he hugged me. He hugged me just like he did
in his bed, only this time it wasn’t for him; it was for Me. Me, his Heidi; he wanted my head to
puff up full and my mouth to untwist and for me not to cry!

Then I took a deep sustaining breath and smiled up at Rufus. Our eyes met and we said hello in
our hearts. Yes, I was his same Heidi, the one he had soothed himself with so many times. I
could still love him even if I was my own self. In fact, I could love him a gazillion times as
much. Then we made beautiful love in our shared dream.

The next few days, whenever Rufy looked around like that, when he seemed to sense the tingle
of the vibrating of my sparkles, he would say aloud, or in his mind, “Is that you, Heidi?” Until I
was able to answer him in a way he could hear--and feel. 

~

I am releasing The Incredible Heidi Wasabi to the public! ADULTS ONLY chapter 2

Previously I have only shared a G-rated chapter.  The bulk of the tale is in fact explicit erotic menage contemporary paranormal fantasy. 

YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED-- if it is illegal for persons your age in your location to read porn, stop now.

THE  INCREDIBLE HEIDI WASABI

 by

Helgaleena

Chapter Two
How There Was Heidi

 Since the little Steen or Steena isn’t around yet, and Rufus says it’s high time I tell my story, I
am going to do it. It is worrying that none of the others I have tried to appear to want me to exist!
Too late, I’m here, and I believe in myself, even if I was not the first to believe in me. That
would be Rufus. But writing it all down soothes my worries of being left on my own when the
humans I love stop living, like Steen did. If I start feeling less real, I can read it to myself.

Though Steen says there are other beings of my sort in mythology, I haven’t gone looking for
others. I prefer to stay with my parent and beloved, the splendid artist and musician Rufus
Dixon, who calls me ‘the incredible’. I like being his unique and secret muse.

After all, I am a sentience formerly attached to a comfort object. I would not exist without Rufus
needing me. He needs me to be the very best at what he does, which involves being himself at all
times. He would never have needed me quite as much as he does if it were not for Steen and the
band.

Heidi’s what Rufus used to call his own hand, ever since way back. It was his granddad who’d
asked him who he’d been playing around with out back of the barn, and he’d said, “Just hiding,
PawPaw,” and felt his ears grow hot.

But PawPaw must not quite have heard what he said because he replied with a grin and a wink,
“Heidi? Nice wholesome name she’s got.”

He got to thinking it was a good name. Because he was pressing his hide and doing it hidden,
and what the johnnycake was up to was nobody else’s business anyway. Spending time on his
own, soothing himself was not a thing to boast of, but the lure of the birds and the bees was just
natural. Sometimes the bird didn’t have a bee handy, though, just his own ‘Heidi.’

When some smart-alec in middle school began to snicker about having a gal called Rosy Palm,
some other scoffer said that was old; his uncle Beau had told him about Rosie and her five
daughters when he couldn’t even shave. From this he gathered that self-pleasuring was not so
unusual. Well, Rufus kept such things as Heidi to himself anyhow. Even though there were some
quite adventurous fillies in his age group in the backward fold of West Virginia that spawned
him, none were ever able to surpass his own hand for satisfaction.

When he got done working his way through art school there was a party for the grads, and for a
joke some trust fund waste of human sensibility gave him an inflatable girl. All you’ll be able to
afford with a music history concentration, the fellow joked. Rufus was a good sport about it. The
one who’d given it to him didn’t know that he didn’t just strum lutes in coffeehouses. He also
sang in garages full of amps and drum kits. Electric music drew crowds who spent their money,
and managers who could spin that money into fame and fortune.

 If you could dance to it, they would come, the girls of scented flesh and swirling hair. It was as

 natural as birds and bees.

Rufus had so much extra energy in his bachelor days that the inflatable Heidi girl didn’t lie idle.
No, she and his hand were necessary supplements to all the little human girls who loved his long
red hair and triangular torso and the way his eyelashes hit his cheekbones. They were good for
tasting, in the shadows behind the amps in those garages.

He liked the tall ones that he could arch around himself in the soft foam in the back of a minivan.
He liked the tiny ones he could lift to his lips like clusters of woman fruit. He liked the lush

pillowy ones that he could leave fingerprints in their upper arms. He liked the bony ones that

 smelled of cigarettes and chemicals and spit. And truth to tell, he liked the ones who weren’t
girls at all, only pretending to be.

He enjoyed them all, but they got tired so fast. He could never get them to stay over. They
needed twice as much sleep as Rufus. Naw, he’d be knocking in the wee hours on a second girl’s
window frame, because the first girl had to get up in the morning. Sometimes he’d use the hours
before dawn to write. But more often he would end up on his own with Heidi.

There were lots of Heidis, because they kept popping until he figured out the optimum inflation
level and good storage protocol. Heidi needed her own box, one that his sister’s cat couldn’t get
open. They were always blond and pink with small round mouth holes and other handles molded
by his preference. After a few years, she had a wig. It never looked real, but it was always soft.
But even when Heidi was joined by the Beaver, which was a real fur coat that didn’t fit but felt
so damn good to lie in, there was simply too much bubbling through him; he had to take up a
sport as well.

Ironically it was fencing—sharp skewers and grace. It distanced him still more from the
wrestling and buckshot of his rural upbringing.

He chose that sport because he was trying to impress Steen Herren. It was an easy segue for him
from the duet to the duel, the intersection where metal met folk ballad.

Mold Apple, his band at the time, kept smoking themselves into noodling incoherence before
they could make the sort of impression that Rufus craved, a real multimedia challenge to the
audience. The other Apple boys were happy to strum in the background of a Renaissance Faire
or a local carnival, leaving the future and the sheer volume out of their music. But a group like
Steen’s had the cachet of overseas touring, and the vehemence of strong leadership.

Steen had an outfit called Virgen Steel. He was a tall colorful character who brandished his
rapier at those Renaissance festivals, but did not play at them. Virgen Steel was a metal band;
you couldn’t call it heavy metal exactly, because they always had some sort of flavor of folk.
Their rhythms were architectural and their themes were pictorial. Steen towered over his bass
like the heron he was nicknamed for, often making the whole effect of it more saturnine by
tucking one leg up in his knee like bloody Jethro Tull’s Ian Anderson and letting his long blond
goatee, in two braids, cascade down his naked chest.

And he wrote all the songs. He designed all stage business and the logos. But they regularly
needed someone new to sing and play a variety of stringed sounds. That was because Steen would overpower them, one way or another, having no respect for the usual spotlighting of the
singer. In fact, the one before Rufus had quit after being goosed onstage by Steen’s epee in the
middle of a cadenza. That just made Rufus chuckle, and start wearing a sword onstage himself.
Herren had a huge reach with an epee, but Rufus swiftly developed charm and speed enough to
be the reincarnation of Errol Flynn, even with his late start in the sport.

It turned out he had a talent for it, and he even learned to fence with both hands just in case. Part
of that was vanity, though, as he wanted his thighs not to be over-developed. Steen’s right was
nearly thirty percent brawnier than his left.

After their singer slot went empty for long enough, and Mold Apple disbanded after the drummer
overdosed, he eventually won a place for himself among the Virgens. Then he got a shock.
Steen’s first love was not fencing, apart from the bit of parry and riposte he engaged in on stage.His real love was soccer. It became an unending mystery to Rufus—why the swordplay? Why
did this tall toe twirling jock, master of the black and white ball, write about apocalyptic
monsters, and drop life sized marionettes down to the stage during shows in order to chop them
to bits like piñatas? Steen did not explain, he only turned up the amps so the shredded remains of
them blew like autumn leaves in the storm of volume.

Soon that was Rufus’ job. As lead singer, for he had a much showier voice than Steen, it was
soon up to him to dispatch the bogies when they came to the final chords. And in their dueling
duets, he held his own against Steen. The crowds loved it.

The fire-maned singer in the tight pants was a magnet for the women now. Other times it was
just him and Heidi. But no matter the time or the season, the pipes of the dynamo that was Rufus
Dixon, rock star, got cleaned every day. He had a lot of vitality; he was known as a wild madcap;
sometimes the day would see him enjoy the hygiene of his own pleasure six times. He was
simply beyond the capacity of one woman and he knew it.

He and the band he now harmonized in, Virgen Steel, drew plenty of female fans willing to be of
service. Dixon the Dickens. Don Juan of metal. Rude Rufus. He grinned and accepted the
monikers bestowed as his due. There could be no such thing as bad publicity in this business; of
this he was convinced. He loved it when they screamed, in the audience or in the back of the bus,
and he would scream back. He’d even scream first.

And when there was nobody willing made of meat to be poked, he had me. Wasabi Heidi. Like
Beaver, I was more than just a thing. I was his comfort, like a teddy or a blankie. And I got real.

 I’m not sure how that came about exactly, but I’m going to tell you as far back as I can. I know
that there was more than one blond and blue eyed me that got regularly spunked into over the
decades. All of them are part of me. But somehow, somebody made a wish and I became me.
Maybe some alchemical thing happened when Steen felt sorry for him, because Steen has always
been magic. Rufus had to need me very badly at the same time.

Anyhow the first thing I remember that is mine, my very own, happened the time he got drunk
and fed the rubbery me a California roll, whole, covered with some green peppery stuff, and then
sucked it out again from my tube of a mouth. And he said, “Oh Heidi, was it good?”

And then he cried, because while he was in Japan on tour, his new wife Jenny had told a tabloid
that the baby inside her wasn’t his. They were going to get a divorce, and it wasn’t fair, wasn’t
fair at all because she’d known how it was going to be on the way in. Rufus couldn’t legally
marry them all, but he did Jenny, and it turned out it was because of a lie.

The first thing I felt as I was born was the bite of that wasabi and the sour pain of his crying into
me, nearly twisting the air out of me as he wrung me against him. That night I was in his dreams.
And he was, for the first time, in mine.

~

I am releasing The Incredible Heidi Wasabi to the public! ADULTS ONLY chapter 1

Due to the untimely death of Dark Roast Press E-Books along with its owner,  my erotic novel The Incredible Heidi Wasabi has been out of print. 

I have decided to remedy that by publishing it here, in the public domain, one chapter at a time.

Previously I have only shared a G-rated chapter.  The bulk of the tale is in fact explicit erotic menage contemporary paranormal fantasy. 

YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED-- if it is illegal for persons your age in your location to read porn, stop now.

THE  INCREDIBLE HEIDI WASABI

 by

Helgaleena

 Author’s Note

The characters and band in this work of fiction are in no way intended to represent the actual
metal band Virgin Steele. The similar name is purely a coincidence.
And the characters are amalgams of the hundreds of Myspace friends I have made among metal
bands and the inspiration I have taken from their music and photo albums. I am especially
indebted to
Thaururod, Last Stone Cast, Ensiferum, Karma to Burn, Vejlekset Perse, Tarot, Kivimetsan
Druidi, Viking Skull, Amberian Dawn, Primus, and Zombie Surf Camp. I think. I’ll have to
check my playlist!

 Chapter One
End and Beginning

I miss our dreams together. That’s probably why I began trying to invade the dreams of the other
guys. Ever since Steen quit having a body and started being dead, he has no dreams. He’s much
too busy doing whatever people do when they aren’t in a body.

He’s only stopped in just once, when he told me he wasn’t going to go back to his body any
longer. I asked him if he could be a ghost and stay with me and Rufus that way. He snorted and
little curls of the stuff between things made wave patterns around his smirk. Ghosts always have
a problem, and I have no problems at all. Thanks to you, my darling shakti, this life has been
both happy and productive for me.

 
But will we ever meet again? I squeaked in my best dream voice. Our husband Rufus is nearly
the same physical age as Steen was, and in no hurry to leave his body. It’s partly due to them that
I exist at all, so what will I do with myself once they aren’t around me? Will I even still keep
being Heidi Wasabi? I’ve rather liked it…

That is entirely up to you, my dear. I am planning to be back. It’s rather a family tradition. Lily
doesn’t know it, but she’s expecting. And I am going to strongly suggest that the baby be named
Steen or Steena.

 
Then I was buoyant enough to blend our energies into love one final time, frequencies and colors
merging and separating into ourselves again with joy, before he dissolved. He wasn’t Steen anymore; his calm was the same as all the other calmness of where that was; he just was part of
the between, as far as I could perceive, anyway. I spent some while futilely seeking him in every
direction before I rejoined my dear Rufus.

When he became aware of me, Rufus held me tightly to him. In dream we wept into each other,
catching each others tears. He is so much gentler than he was when he was younger. I didn’t
even have to tell him what the matter was. He’s lost loved ones before, but not ones whose
relation to him was so private and so deep that it could not be spoken. It made me think about
losing him, and whether being dissolved into the between would be so bad…

“Babe, I’m actually glad for him,” he said as we segued into the waking world together. “He’s
been miserable in the damn hospital and no way was he going to make it home to us from it
again.” My Rufy’s hair is gold and silver now, but the threads of it are still like precious metals
around the freckles and creases of his splendid jaw. I watched the tears find their way along the
contours of them on their way toward the pillow, and the fur of Beaver.

When I told him about a new little Steen or Steena, he laughed and said he’d believe it when he
saw it. I think he felt as if a baby Steen would not be the same for him. That is where we differ, I
guess.

Nobody’s told me I can’t live forever, you know. I never wanted a mortal fleshy body like theirs,
so I haven’t bothered with one. I sometimes animate a physical thing, just to please Rufus, but
not with any long-term attachments. I learned better than that quite a while ago. So I am planning
to see whether Steen or Steena, the new version of the amazing wizard who invented Virgen
Steel, the musical and cultural phenomenon, remembers his Heidi, once he or she is old enough
to dream.

Well, in the meantime the other members of Virgen Steel are nearly as old as Steen, so I thought
they mightbe willing to let me into their dream lives. Surely playing high decibel music together
all these years must have made them more receptive to the possibility that Heidi was more than
just the subject of some controversial lyrics, blown out of proportion now and then by stupid
people who couldn’t see me one bit!

But sadly it turned out not to be that way. Two of them, Murray and Munsch, couldn’t tell I was
there whether asleep or awake, and when I got insinuated into Ole’s fantasy levels, he refused to

believe I was more than just one of his own thoughts. Bother. I wasted many nights on issuing
invitations, and none of them came to my party.

That is why I decided to write this all down in journal form. Privacy locks on the Internets are
better than they used to be, but even so it doesn’t matter very much if somebody reads this and
thinks it’s a spoof. It’s just me and my blog, trying to make me feel better until Steen comes
back. Thank you, blog. I am made of feelings, mostly, with a bit of thought and lots of
frequencies in the visible and audible spectrum that don’t get very physical. But I can do that
physical stuff too, especially when I have someone to love.

Blog, I hope you don’t mind if I keep speaking of Steen in the present tense, as if he were still
here. When he says he’ll be back, I believe him. He believed in me, so it’s the least I can do.

~

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Laurie's Paranormal Thoughts and Reviews: The Incredible Heidi Wasabi by Helgaleena: Guest Post

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The Incredible Heidi Wasabi by Helgaleena | Foxys Rambling Book Reviews

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"Weirdest, most bizarre story I have ever read in my entire life!!!! I’m not sure where to start with this book – I think my brain is still trying to understand it or take it all in or something? This book … story … weird journey of WTF … has me in a kind of awe – for good or bad … I think I’ll let you decide!"

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