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Heather's Moon Cycle

By: merneptah



I had just moved into the rather down-at-the-heels bungalow and as it was my first home purchase I had a lot to do around the property. It was a quiet neighbourhood with mostly retired people and the graying asphalt street was lined with stooped oak and maple trees that I associated with senescence so it was a surprise that the house next door, to the south, was inhabited by a single mother with two teenage daughters. It was the first week of summer that I discovered this while seeding my patchy and barren backyard plot that had been so woefully neglected. It was in my throes of peonage to the land that I first heard her warm voice.

"They sure didn't care about grass." Her voice seemed to plunge across the low cedar hedge and I first thought it was an echo of my own mind thinking exactly the same thing as I squatted in the dirt in baggy cotton pants and rummaged in the seed bag. But then that mysterious voice projected itself again.

"The Sponagles I mean." It then struck me that there was indeed a living person behind this accusation and as I turned to look around I saw her outstretched hand and arm arced over the low hedge accompanied by that bubbly, if rather strong, voice.

"Hi, I'm Heather." I blinked because her sun-hatted face was framed by the morning sun blazing away. "You're going to need more seed than that I'm afraid."

I slowly got up and morphed into friendly-neighbour mode. "Hi, I'm Gwydion, I just moved in last week."

"I saw the truck and you unloading," she replied. "Gwydion, that's an unusual name." I had moved closer to her and could see her face clearly now. Roundish, cherubic, with an incipient double chin and dimples in her cheeks...and thick plastic framed glasses.

I wiped the sweat off my hands before I shook hers. "It's Welsh, my folks are from there, I moved to the states a couple of years ago for work."

As I let go of her hand I noticed a bit of heaviness in her forearm, nothing excessive but bespeaking motherly plumpness. 

"Wales is absolutely fascinating. I have a penchant for places with rich historic traditions." I nodded. "I've never been there but I know the region is magical. Lay lines, spiritual energy. And wonderful green shrubbery. Not like this," she fingered the scorched twigs of the hedge, then lowered her face to the emaciated wisps of cedar and sniffed. "Not much aroma here, not as I imagine lush Wales to be. I do some aroma therapy so I'm attracted to varied scents and smells."

I stood looking at her. I could see that she was about 5'6", with narrow shoulders, and as I looked down I noticed the callipygous overflowing of her lower half. She stepped back and stretched out those heavyish arms, and seemed to embrace her property. She was wearing a peasant skirt and flat shoes, and suddenly she twirled.

"I know we'll be getting much more rain soon. I can feel it." She then looked at her watch on that dimpled wrist and exclaimed "Gosh I'm late, have to rush, why don't you drop by for coffee next Saturday. Bye." And with another swirl of that voluminous dress she took long strides to her back door. Her bottom was full, cushy, and wide. Little did I know then what her razor sharp mature female intuition had already told her about my growing excitement at her plus sized womanhood.

The week was hectic, filled with the insistent demands of anorexic and raucous sleep-deprived coworkers and when Saturday dawned I was sleeping heavily. As I lay in bed for a long time I heard rustling in the back and a kind of low thrum of voices. I padded to the porch screen door just in time to hear my neighbour's, Heather's, striking voice calling out to someone "And please don't be late Carol. The full moon isn't going to wait on us."

I stepped outside and walked up to the hedge in my pyjamas. Suddenly she turned around to face me, a broad smile creasing her face.

"Gwydion, I was just thinking of you, hoping you could come in for some rather special coffee." Her eyes twinkled as I made excuses for my appearance, but she brushed them aside and in a mocking stern voice harrumphed that I had 10 minutes to make myself presentable and that being a gentleman of Welsh extraction I had no business to keep a fine lady like herself waiting. She snapped her fingers in front of my line of vision, giggled, and reminded me over her shoulder that I only had nine and a half minutes now. I rushed back in, put on khakis, checked my face in the mirror, combed, and rushed back out. She had struck a nerve with that peremptory tone of voice and I was feeling flustered, a little nervous, but very excited.

I rang her doorbell and she let me in. She wore a flowery printed peasant dress, sandals, and her short reddish hair was gelled I noticed. The plastic framed glasses were penetrated by owlish like gray eyes. She wore no makeup as she instructed me to sit in a beanbag chair, and presently she reappeared with steaming mugs of what I took to be coffee.

As I sipped though it became apparent that there were flavors, in addition to the chicory, that I couldn't place. "It's my own blend, the girls' blend I mean."

"Girls?" I said, curious.

She laughed. "Oh, no, not my twin teens, they're off to see their grandparents out of state for the summer. I mean..." and she paused, looking closely at me, "the girls (here she air-quoted with surprisingly slim and long fingers tipped with clear nail polish) in my...coven." She paused. "Are you shocked?"

Actually I wasn't shocked at all. My two older sisters were white witches, Wiccans, and now that she was too I wasn't at all surprised how lightly she introduced the subject. "I'm familiar with Wicca."

She giggled. "I just knew you were. I have a sixth sense about these things." Then she shifted with no hesitation to mundane subjects, the garbage pickup, groceries, etc. We chatted amiably, then she checked her watch, emitted a voluble "Shit" and ushered me out the door explaining she had to meet her ex-husband about some 'business matters' as she rolled her eyes and muttered something about needing a docile man, and then with her parting "Oh well" I was out the door.

Another week came and went. I seemed to be dreaming very vividly that week, confused dreams of big bottomed thick thighed pagan women dancing nude under the full moon, and Heather was there, garbed in a smock, and at one point in one dream the earth-toned smock slid off her narrow shoulders and revealed truly gargantuan buttocks. I awoke to the sensation of those buttocks slipping over my prone upturned face and the whiff I had, momentarily, was of that coffee concoction she had given me the last Saturday. I awoke fully to the doorbell. It was Heather

"What, not dressed already? I would appreciate your help, moving a piece of furniture. I'll give you ten minutes, I really do need your help. so be a good man."

I was totally flustered. She was wearing stretch pants and they revealed very wide hips, with jiggly saddlebags of female flesh. As she sauntered away she giggled in my direction and beckoned me to follow. I hurriedly donned my khakis and as I rang her doorbell that strong voice, sounding imperious, urged me to come in and come upstairs.

As I entered what I presumed to be her bedroom, graced with a canopied, king-sized bed, I saw her in one corner struggling with a massively ornate low seated throne like chair. As I got closer I noticed it had a round opening cut into the bare seat and underneath the opening was a sling like hammocky head rest suspended by leather straps from the bottom of the throne seat.

"Oh, that's my Queening Stool. It's damned heavy, could you give me a hand?" I stood there frozen to the spot. She looked at me appraisingly. "I see you know what a Queening Stool is. I knew you would."

i stood there glued to the spot. I did indeed know what it was, and my breathing became fast and deep. Heather walked around me and startled me by squeezing my right shoulder suddenly from behind. She giggled. "Don't worry, I'm not going to put YOU in it. I just need it moved. Come on." And I bent over, then got on my knees to push harder, and she clapped her hands as she stood above me. "Now that's a good man, being helpful to a lady in distress. I wonder how I should reward you?..." TO BE CONTINUED

Heather's Moon Cycle Pt. 02



Heather's eyes crinkled as she gazed down on my bemused expression. Her last words hung in the air like a grenade in my mind. Was I making a fool of myself, jumping to conclusions? I just didn't know. 

Then she suddenly, theatrically, brushed the back of her hand across her forehead. "Suffering catfish it's going to be a hot day." She lowered her hand to pull me up. "You look like you need a libation young man." And she pulled me down those plush carpeted stairs to a cozy kitchen.

Again that strange and unusual yet comfortingly seductive aroma permeated the air as she began brewing her 'girls'' concoction. I sat entranced at the solid oak table shaped in an oval in the center of the small but domestically tranquil kitchen.

"You know Gwydion, life is filled with twists and turns." She had turned from her brewing and wagged a tea spoon in my direction. "Last year at this time I was sinking under the weight of an unhappy marriage...and today I see endless possibilities." She beamed at me as she brought over the etched ornate Mocha ware pottery into which she had decanted our 'libation.'

"Go ahead and sip it, but slowly, it is rather strong...like a woman." She giggled as I brushed my lips against the steaming demitasse. It was then that I noticed the human figures carved into the sides of the pottery. Sort of stylized puppets, it looked like, in different poses, mostly kneeling with...I gasped...with the outlines of Amazon women hovering over them.

"You're looking at the work of a dear friend of mine, Liz...she's an artist, she specializes in drawing men as maumets, as servants of the Goddess." Heather sipped at her mug and began to reflect.

"It's not easy to challenge patriarchal traditions. My own journey began with my separation from my husband...EX-husband," she corrected strongly. "My transition began with Liz, and the other Wiccans, all wonderful women..." she trailed off "...but you wouldn't be interested in that, a young man like yourself with your social life." She sipped some more and I noticed the full curl of her lower lip, and I thought of a wonderful full-bodied glistening fish of the Deep, a Leviathan, breaching the surface, the interface between sea and air, just as the coffee-like liquid breached the change of medium between the glazed mug and her lip.

"Oh but I would," I stammered. "I mean, your badly mistaken about my 'social life', I'm actually quite solitary." I looked down, feeling sheepish at confessing to her, still for all intents and purposes a complete stranger, my social inadequacies. My fingers drummed at my mug.

She tut-tutted something, then looked at me fully, inhaled deeply and in that rich matronly voice of hers began what I would learn only later was my initiation into Female Supremacy.

"May I tell you something Gwydion. Life would be much better for both men and women, those who are so inclined I mean," she made a gesture of flipping her hand about the room, "if only women could lead a relationship, and not let the male ego, or crude male sexuality," and here she snorted, "always get in the WAY." She giggled at her own imperious tone then drained her mug. "Come on, I have some more work for you. Now finish your drink." I sat there dumbfounded. She tsk-tsked at me. "Don't worry, it won't be too onerous. You might even enjoy it."

She led me to the basement, to an old washing machine with a ringer. There were two deep cement tubs with an enameled basin in one, with something soaking in it. She took me by the hand and pulled my fingers into the warm soapy water.

"Those are some of my private garments, underthings, you know. They require gentle, but extensive, washing." I swooned a bit, but she steadied me. There was something about that coffee she had given me, I was feeling hypnotized.

"You will notice that I wear plus sized underwear so there is more material that must be washed and," she reached for a goose necked vial from the shelf above, "and infused with the liquid in this container. Spread a little of this," she dipped my middle finger in the vial, into an oily creamy unguent, "into the crotches of my panties, it soothes my skin, that's a dear." She whirled around and began going up the stairs. "I know your Saturdays are free, and you just told me you have an empty social life, so what better way to put yourself to use than be my...panty launderer for the day. That's a good man." And she was off, and before I could collect my wits I heard the upstairs door bell ring and a cackle of female voices suffused the air as I turned to my task, feeling drugged but yet strangely very excited.

An hour passed, maybe two, but I was assiduously going about my task as Heather's Launderer when she came back down the stairs, materializing suddenly like a Vapour, or something Gothic. I blinked because she was carrying a candle, big, thick and black in her left hand, and in her right there was a tall slim white candle, smaller than the black but seeming to burn with a more intense flame. "I see you have acted accordingly," she said maternally, almost as if gently scolding a menial, "and now we have some questions for you."

I gaped at her. "Look, I actually enjoyed helping you out, but..." 

"Shh," she put a slim finger to her lips as she handed me the white candle, picked up the enameled basin and motioned for me to follow her. "The ladies have a few questions for you. You don't want to seem unsociable, do you?" And she intoned the 'you' in such a stern fashion, it was overpowering. I had never before felt such a compulsion to obey. So I meekly followed her up the stairs.

The kitchen was bathed in a twilight gloom. But it couldn't be, it should only just be noon. Heather must have sensed my confusion because she told me it was indeed twilight, that I had been in the basement all day, and now it was time to answer some questions. At which point she ushered me to my seat and called out "Carol, Elizabeth, do come in."

Two women, dressed in flowing black gowns, swept into the room and sat opposite to me. Heather took the middle seat between them and it was only then that I noticed she was attired in a black gown herself. She took the white candle from me and fitted it into an ornate candelabra in the middle of the table. One of the other women did the same to the black candle. I shuddered a bit because it all seemed so ominous.

Heather spoke, almost imperiously. "Gwydion, how often do you masturbate?"

"I, I, what do you mean?" I was flushed and flustered. One of the other women spoke up now.

"Gwydion, I'm Elizabeth, please don't be alarmed. We've all been following your progress with Heather these past weeks, you certainly have potential. But absolute honesty is a must. We find it is better this way, to find out about a prospective male's sexuality early on so as to," she looked sidelong at Heather, "so as to be able to take appropriate measures. So please answer the question." her smile had disappeared and I was reminded of one of the towering Amazons on the pottery earlier that day.

My mind was churning furiously. I looked at the other woman, but she returned my glance with steadiness and resolve, or so it seemed. I also began to notice the women's shapes then. Funny how the mind works. I was confused, overwhelmed, but I was concentrating on the plus sized physiques of all three women, the outlines under the fabric of their gowns of thick arms, of fleshiness everywhere.

My eyes dropped. "Sometimes 4 or 5 times in a day.' One of the women gasped. "But not every day," I stammered, feeling a deep red shame growing within me like an unwanted tumescence at the most embarrassing moment.

Elizabeth interjected "And what do you imagine, or think of, when you stimulate yourself. What are you attracted to?" Before I could answer Heather whispered in the ear of the other one "As if we didn't already know," and it seemed as if the two of them almost giggled.

"I, I, I'm very attracted to fuller figured mature women," I stammered again, the red gorge of my embarrassment seeming to waft like a circle of demons above my head. "I'm sorry it I'm offending any of you."

"He is immediately apologetic for his drives," Elizabeth exclaimed to the other two, "a promising start. But only a start." She directed the last comment to me and the three women stood. Heather gestured to me. "This has only been the first test Gwydion. Please follow us upstairs. Now please." She made an ushering gesture and I obediently responded to her directive. And I immediately fell into line behind the procession of silhouetted matrons climbing the stairs ponderously, with great ceremony...and great portent it seemed to me. TO BE CONTINUED