Condition of Deployment

		     

Yes, yes, in his dream the wings were there.  And, no, I did
not hose him down with flame retardant chemicals first.  In
this dream, though, this 'angel' had the voice and attitude
down pat.

After some introductions, he explained "Y'see, Jack, *we*
know where your heart stands, and we also know that your
wife is quickly turning you against God with all of that
smarmy 'sex is too private to share with anyone' manure that
she's heard and seems to like.  So we're going to be kind to
you."

In my dream I stood there.  In shock.  With my mouth hanging
open.  In my skivvies.  In a fog.  In a cold fog.

"Oh, I know, you're wondering 'why you', aren't you?"  This
pronouncement sounded like there was sarcasm in it, but I
did manage to nod, dumbly, my eyes must still have looked
like saucers.  This whole situation could not be happening.

He laughed.  "Because _you_ are afraid.  Afraid of being
rejected.  Afraid of being reminded that you're not good
enough.  Afraid to find out that you are worth as little as
you've been led to expect by others, including your wife.
Afraid of being even less than what you fear yourself to be.
Afraid to discover that you *are* truly as unlovable as you
have spent decades believing yourself to be.  Am I right?"

Again, all I could do is nod, dumbly.  I was afraid of all
of these things, but, then, dreams are supposed to work from
what I, the *dreamer*, knows or is aware of, right?  Dreams,
I have always believed, don't tend to provide you with
information you don't already know or believe, right?

Watching me, this 'angel' wearing Alan Rickman's face just
suddenly exploded into laughter.  "Believe me, Jack, while
your parents were right to tell you that the world doesn't
revolve around you, we know that you are a bit more useful
in this world than you've believed yourself to be.  So you
are insignificant in a Universe over fourteen Billion years
old-- and, yeah, the central bank of the universe _did_ have
some issues with inflation, early on, but please don't let
Steven Hawking know that-- but you are significant in this
here and now...  and, as much as you may not believe it, you
*are* significant within your own life."

I found my voice and said "You're just a dream, aren't you?"

He rolled his head back and laughed, suddenly stopping to
say "No, I'm not, you twit.  You humans are all alike,
aren't you, always thinking that your own minds are unworthy
or even untrustworthy.  Well, except for the fucking no-wits
that tell God that She's unqualified because She's a woman,"
I watched his eyes roll theatrically, "as if those cretins
are any judge of character.  She _really_ gets annoyed by
those pricks who claim to hear Her and then don't act like
they heard a damn thing even when She _did_ have me whisper
sweet suggestions and instruction into their ears.  The lot
you have prancing around lately don't listen even when I
have talked to them, especially that President you Americans
didn't elect back in 2004.  Talk about the Republican
'Machine' getting votes, eh?  So, no, you miserable little
twits the world over deal with other little twits, so it's
been some work to sow a little happiness in the world just
to piss 'em off."

The angel suddenly stopped and stared at me.

"Was I just monologuing?"

I nodded, suddenly afraid.

He sighed, his wings drooping.  "I'm supposed to be having a
comfortable conversation with you, but, as you can see, my
regular job as Metatron tends to creep in.  Next time I get
preachy, interrupt me, all right?"

I nodded, now even more afraid to interrupt him, but I had
to ask "Why do you look like Alan Rickman from the movie
Dogma?  Couldn't you be just about anybody?".

He smirked.  "I _liked_ that movie.  I really did.  Even if
he doesn't recall it, I *coached* him in that role, though,
like a good actor, I liked some of his nuances.  Some of the
folks who recognize where I've gotten this persona from do
get a bit goggle-eyed, but it does work well to get through
to those who later see the movie to know I was real.  As I
am, even though you believe that you're dreaming this whole
little conversation.  In any case, let's get back to you."

There is a possibility that being married for so long made
my mindless nodding to go on a conditioned reflex.

He sighed, looked depressed for a moment, then spoke again,
saying "So it's not your little tiny mind, Jack, that is
untrustworthy, it's the Universe itself!  If you're looking
for irony in action, look there!  Your mind is too tiny to
cope with true irony, though, you know.  And, yes, I've been
told that you pay some attention to it when it hits others."

I gaped.  "So...  if you're real, why are you bothering?"

More laughter.  It really did feel like he was laughing *at*
me again rather than _with_ me.  This was not comfortable.
Until he stopped to talk to me again:  "You'll know this is
for real when you touch a woman's hand, you can guess who I
am referring to, and whisper 'I love you' to her.  Cupping
her cheek while saying it would work even better.  After
that you have forty-eight hours to consummate your love with
her, telling her again how you love her, to set the bond.
If you don't consummate the bond sexually and tell her again
that you love her, you're both free again."

Finally, yes, finally, it was my turn to laugh.  "As if!
Get real!"

Suddenly I could see real iron in his expression: He wasn't
amused that I'd laughed at his pronouncement.  "Jack, any
woman you love and do that little ritual with will love you
as much as you do her, even if she is as afraid as you are
to tell anyone.  So, you must touch her and tell her you do
love her.  The more you truly feel love for a woman when you
tell her so, the more love-- and lust, you _do_ know how
fucking lucky you humans are since God wanted you to enjoy
sex enough so that you'd live out your miserably short
lives instead of killing yourselves or making war-- she will
feel for *you*.  A woman will bond with you, and you to
her... and you can do this with up to three women.  In your
case these words will have power."

I stared at this apparition.  "All right, so what strings
are attached to this 'gift'?"

He smirked.  Hearing "Y'know, for a human, you're not quite
as pathetically stupid as I've gotten used to", when
delivered with that English accent, did not sound like much
of a compliment.  "It is all very simple, really.  You have
to love the woman.  You have to tell the truth.  You have to
reinforce this bonding within forty-eight hours to ensure
the bond is placed.  She must not already be emotionally
'taken', which, if you understand me, doesn't necessarily
mean married women are off-limits to you but also _does_
mean that there are some single women you can't touch, no
matter how infatuated you may be."

My dream body could shrug and so I did so, before asking
"What are the costs *to me* of getting this so-called gift?
It sounds like an incredible burden and responsibility, so,
really, I don't think characterizing it as a gift is truth
in advertising.  What kind of curse is this?"

He nodded.  "It can be a curse, all right.  I see you are
just barely smart enough for a human so I will admit to
feeling not entirely displeased.  Yes, all gifts do imply a
responsibility and will be a test of your ability to judge
who _you_ are.  If you do not feel better about yourself
and your place in the Universe sometime in the next year--
like by choosing to *not* use this gift-- you'll likely not
enjoy the consequences."

He paused and looked closely at me.  I nodded to acknowledge
that I was following the chain of thought.

"There are women out there who need love in their lives and
you are just the man to give it to them.  That *you* will be
getting the love *you* need in return makes this a good deal
for all parties involved."

My dream self sighed as theatrically as I could hope for in
this dream state.  "What of my wife?  The 'forsake all
others' clause of the wedding contract that she constantly
reminds me of?"

"Aren't you forgetting that she agreed to obey you?  And she
doesn't believe in that?  Your exhausted patience and strong
resistance when it comes to giving her your all?"

I had to nod.  "So?  What does that mean?"

There is no more ironic a sigh than what I saw in that short
moment.  "She's pissed away most of the gifts she was given
for this life, just as you've pissed away a lot of what you
have.  You humans seem to excel at pissing away most of the
blessings our Maker bestowed on you.  Maybe, with this gift,
you can teach people about love and healing.  We know you
have both an aversion to pain, physical and emotional, and a
strong sense of protectiveness and empathy.  I think it is
safe to say that you will do the right kinds of things with
this particular gift."

"So," I decided to probe, "What happens if, on waking up, I
roll over to face my wife, put my hand on her hand, and tell
her I love her, what happens?"

"Nothing.  Until you already have two other women bonded to
you, and you to them, through this gift, you can't make such
a bond with your wife.  She'll be on the outside at first, a
junior member, turning the tables of authority on her.  She
will, however, ignore anything you do that would normally
set her off.  Even if you try to explain your affairs and
describe the sex in detail, she'll be hearing other things.
She has been deluding-- that means lying-- herself about her
standing for so long that being blind to reality, as she has
been, can go on for another year or so.  She's too
self-righteous by half, you may be realizing, and could
likely use a reminder of humility.  You understand me,
right?"

*Ouch*.  That was harsh.  I nodded.  I'm sure he could see
my discomfort.

"Jack, we know you love her.  We also know why.  But we also
know that she's turned off a *lot* of feelings in an effort
to 'be more spiritual' and to 'do the right thing'... and,
instead, has been doing all of the _wrong_ things needed to
find happiness while alive.  I've tried to talk to her but
she doesn't listen to me either, because she doesn't think
of sex as a godly gift, so she listens to people who tell
her how to think spiritually, how to act spiritual, and how
to live... and even _Lucifer_ couldn't wrap himself up and
spout so much evil as those charismatic bastards can!  You
have people who call themselves 'good' and 'religious' but
they make that kind of phrase oxymoronic.  It's people like
that who have no empathy at all that make my job of trying
to pass hints along to such... such..."

He sighed as I listened to him get worked up again.

"Jack, humans are all morons, but the real dregs make morons
like you look pretty damn sensible."

I interrupted him.  "Ummmm... are you monologuing again?"

He stopped and stared at me for a moment and then cleared
his throat.  "You'd think that a couple of thousand years of
trying to hold a conversation would finally establish good
habits, wouldn't you?"  He laughed, a kind of embarrassed
chuckle, and went on "So, Jack, you should have enough
information.  You'll remember all of this when you wake up,
and, within a day, you'll know that this works."

I shrugged.  "Yeah, right!  I'll believe it when I see it!"

He laughed.  "Truer words were never spoken.  Also, you need
to know that there are a couple of jokers slipped into this
deck, just to make sure *you* maintain a level of humility."

This was *not* the most reassuring way for a dream to end.

    ----------------------------------------------------    
							    | 
The morning was tough enough after waking up in a cold sweat
over the "jokers in the deck" remark he'd made, but I made
it to work.
							    | 
I'll admit that going to work that day filled me with more
than a small amount of anxiety, worried that my dream was
real while still hoping it was an utter fantasy.  I couldn't
make up my mind.

Ambivalent?  Me?  Well, yes and no.

So, that morning, as I walked into the cubicle farm, there
was my favorite female co-worker, Hannah.  Short, cute,
exotically attractive little Hannah.  Who smiled at me.

Now, mind you, Hannah's smiling to me is nothing new.  Her
pleasantly elfin face seemed to be made for smiles and, when
we usually said our good mornings to each other, the smile I
saw on her angelic (though not like the Metatron I talked to
in my dream) face was a perfect prescription for depression.

If there was a woman I wanted to try out the 'I love you'
trick I'd been told of, Hannah was number one, and, because
of my fears, augmented by the conduct rules for work, I was
very afraid to try out the fantasy my dream had suggested.

So I went about my work, a coward.  The old "coulda woulda
shoulda" mantra rang through my head every couple of minutes
as I worked through the various tasks I had to deal with.

At lunch time, though, I saw her in one of the small
conference rooms, eating.  I decided to bring over my lunch
and sit with her.

It was after we'd eaten and were talking that I moved to sit
next to her, brought my hand to hers, and turned to her.

My heart was in my mouth as I closed my eyes and said, "I
love you", hearing an echo in her voice.  She was saying the
same thing *to me*!

Lightning struck me and suddenly our lips found each other's
due to a sudden jump in the pull of gravity.  Lip-lock was
almost instantaneous as our bodies tried to get closer, my
hand went to cup her cheek and repeat the mantra just as her
hand cupped *my* cheek at the same moment.

Again, we said, in unison, "I love you", triggering yet
another lightning strike, my heart was almost stopped.

It is a good thing that this particular small conference
room's door could lock since we didn't get anywhere near
using more than twenty minutes of the forty-eight hour
window, coupling right there at the office within two
minutes of our bonding.  We weren't very loud but we sure
had no problems reaching climax, the post orgasmic bliss
seeming to keep our hearts beating in synchronization.

    ----------------------------------------------------    

We finally talked about it after work, sitting in one of the
other conference rooms, her small frame on my lap and her
body cuddled up to mine.  She was obviously just one of the
jokers in the deck I'd been warned about, given that Hannah
had dreamt of the same kind of interview I had, giving her
the ability to pick and choose a man to love her.

When I loaned her my DVD of "Dogma" she recognized the Angel
who'd spoken to her from it.  Perhaps the Metatron had truly
enjoyed that film more than 'he' should have.

The second joker was learned by accident: either the bond or
perhaps my semen healed my small lover.  Hannah had had a
heart valve problem that her cardiologist had been following
for many years.  The problem apparently healed itself.
Other small issues like scars were vanishing as well.

The third joker was the hardest on my heart: contraceptives,
at least those of the hormonal variety, don't seem to work
when it's _my_ semen reaching a woman's womb.  Hannah was
pregnant before the first month was out.  We used condoms in
that first month and gave up after several brands we tried
all became sieves.

Now I'll admit that this is all flattering, but this "gift"
had some costs I wasn't quite ready for, so I was a lot more
careful.  My wife, even when I tried to get her attention,
paid little heed to me.  It was uncanny.

Hannah did have an older girl friend with breast cancer who
was looking at having a lumpectomy within a month, so, in an
effort to experiment, had her try giving me a blow job.

Well, I have to admit that *I* enjoyed the efforts to test
the healing properties that Hannah believed in.  It really
could have been almost anything, but Toni, the woman who
drained me several times in a week, was diagnosed with
spontaneous remission of her tumor.

Somehow I didn't think I'd be able to sell myself as a faith
healer since most don't tend to heal via sexual contact.

Toni was good enough to us to keep it quiet though she did
occasionally try to talk Hannah into lending me out to some
of her friends.

Hannah figured that the status quo was fine.

    ----------------------------------------------------    

I did mention the jokers in the deck, right?  I realized,
with Hannah, that I wasn't the only one who had been told of
how those three words had power, but I hoped that it wasn't
a common thing.

Well, it might not have been _common_, but there were enough
people out there who could say it before I could.

You see, there was this much younger woman at work named
Connie who, as a contractor, was pretty well known to be
aggressive, to say the least.  I joked with Hannah that, if
we looked up "Type A Personality" there would be a picture
of her.  We heard rumors that Connie had problems in her
personal relationships, her rep not including much in the
way of sex, but I worked with her often enough and got to
like her and her tendency to be very direct, never leaving
me to guess about what was on her mind.

Given the age difference and my comfort with Hannah, Connie
didn't impress me as much as she did other men in the
office.  I'd heard her described glowingly as a tall Nordic
goddess, her long straight blonde hair confusing those who
thought all blondes were idiots and easily manipulated.  Me,
I tended to feel protective of her, even though she was far
more physically intimidating than I could ever be.

So I didn't pay much attention to her body, figuring that
she'd have someone her own age to deal with her needs.  This
changed, though, after she cornered me in the computer room.
Looking down at me, her hand reached out, cupped my cheek,
then she said those three magic words and my heart expanded,
again...