In February, in honor of Valentine’s Day, I always do the Love and Lust theme. I got carried away this year.

In the past, I’ve done a few themes inspired by the titles of songs and occasionally an entire album of songs. I’m doing that again, and with the classic collection of love songs that every woman loves and every man pretends is silly but secretly he loves. I’m talking about Air Supply’s Greatest Hits from 1983, with nine songs that, in my generation, were so popular that everyone knew them all.

As for getting carried away: Maybe I’m getting to be an old, hopeless romantic. This album will span three months of Cud Flashes in the Pan, with three songs represented in each month. I hope that’s not too much love and lust—and there’s plenty of either, along with both happy and tragic endings.

“Every Woman in the World”
Science fiction
“…You're my fantasy, you're my reality … You're everything I need…”
by David M. Fitzpatrick

Paul needed Jane so badly. He missed her more than words could say.

So when he saw her on the street, wearing that sexy red dress, he was ecstatic. It was the dress she’d worn the night of their first date, he remembered as she rushed down the sidewalk toward him, all smiles, and wrapped herself around him, hugging and kissing him.

“I love you so much!” she cried.

There were a thousand people around, but Paul didn’t care. The made out like teenagers on the sidewalk while people passed and skyscrapers watched over them. Then they held hands as they walked through the city for hours. They saw sights together, ate hot dogs from a vendor’s cart, and had ice cream in the park. It was perfect.

“I really missed spending time together,” she said.

“Me too,” he said, trying to fight the tears. “More than I can tell you.”

“Let’s meet at the museum later,” she said. “There’s a beautiful exhibit.”

*   *   *

Later, at the museum, Paul was admiring the Van Gogh exhibit in one of the galleries when Jane arrived. She was wearing a blue pantsuit and with her hair in a stylish ponytail. It was the outfit she’d worn when she’d landed the job at Daly & Steiner. He remembered how they had celebrated that night—including getting a little drunk, and she begging him to take her from behind, and to pull on that ponytail when he did.

He forgot the Van Gogh exhibit when she wrapped her arms around him. He savored the long embrace.

She kissed him. “Did you miss me, Paul?”

“So much,” he said, and they held each other in the gallery for a while, oblivious to the people and the priceless works of art.

Presently, biology took over, and Jane whispered in his ear, “Is that a banana in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?”

“I’m very happy to see you,” he whispered back.

She touched him as she kissed him, and suddenly the gallery was gone and they were on the roof of the tallest building in the city. Van Gogh’s Starry Night began swirling in the sky above them, and they stood and held each other while they watched the yellows spinning amidst the blues.

“Make love to me,” she demanded, breathless and impatient, and so he did, there on the rooftop, where the bed from his apartment had suddenly appeared. The sensations were just as they had always been: the feel of her lips on his, her hands on his body, he inside her. Just when he was on the edge of exploding, she stopped moving and sucked on his earlobe.

“Take me from behind,” she whispered. “And pull on that ponytail while you do.”

And these things he did, until she screamed in rapture and he roared in delirium. After they collapsed together, they laid entwined in each other’s arms, watching the swirling galactic ballet above.

“I want to hold you forever,” Paul said. “I just can’t ever get enough of you.”

“Is that so?” said Jane, but not the naked Jane in bed with him. He looked up to see another Jane standing next to the bed, bedecked in a pretty yellow sundress, a wide-brimmed hat, and big sunglasses. It was the sundress she’d bought for their honeymoon in Mexico, and the hat and glasses she’d gotten in the shop in Cancún shortly after they’d arrived.

“Hello, Jane,” said his naked Jane.

“Hello, Jane,” the other replied. “Can I join you?”

“Of course,” the first said.

The new Jane pulled off her bright outfit and joined them, and the three of them made love over and over before Paul fell asleep with both of them in his arms.

*   *   *

When he awoke the next morning, the bed was in his apartment and both Janes were gone. He showered and dressed and headed out to find the city full of bustling people again. He knew if he looked long enough, he would find her, or apparently two of her. The system understood his needs.

“I need my Jane,” he whispered above blaring horns and the sounds of the city.

“Paul!” she called from across the street, and there she was, all smiles and waving, wearing the green shorts and tank top she liked for their hiking excursions. She rushed across to him. “Let’s go shopping together. I promise I won’t make you hold my purse, but you have to hold my hand.”

“Paul!” cried another Jane, and he spun to see her in a white skirt, running in heels that clack-clacked on the concrete—the pristine church outfit when her religious mother made her attend services. “We’ve been talking about seeing that show for so long. Let’s go today. We’ll sit in the back of the house in case it’s boring and we want to find something to do in the dark.”

“Paul!” cried yet another, running up the sidewalk from the other direction, wearing a sexy one-piece swimsuit and sandals. He remembered that number from a beach adventure last summer. “The beach is beautiful today! You can look at all the bikinis you want, so long as you go home with me.”

They converged on him, telling him that they loved him, hugging him and showering him with kisses, even as he heard Janes calling his name from all over. The thousands of people in the city all seemed to be changing into Janes. One by one, a Jane in an outfit from a pleasant memory rushed toward him, and the sea of people slowly became an ocean of Janes until the entire city was nothing but his lovely wife. Hundreds of them, thousands of them, all vying for the chance to hug him, kiss him, hold his hand, make love with him, be with him…

There were still men bustling about the city streets, but Paul realized there were no more women—none except the wave of Janes. And he knew what the system had done. Every woman in the world was Jane. And it was beyond fake. It was beyond therapy, logic, and reason. He came to his senses, struggled against the crushing throng of Janes, and cried out to the system.

“END THIS!” he shrieked.

The scene froze, and his world of Janes faded away. The city followed, and everything went black. Paul felt his real physical sensations return, and he groped madly for the helmet and ripped it off his head. He blinked against the light in his living room.

“I don’t understand, sir,” the system’s AI said. “I read that you wanted as much of your wife as you could get. I read that you could never have too many versions of her.”

“It’s all fake,” Paul said. “It’s not real.”

*   *   *

That night, in the real world, he was asleep in his actual bed when Jane woke him. He gave a start, but then realized he wasn’t wearing the mind-fantasy headset. This was the real Jane.

“Hey, baby,” she said, a bright smile and playful eyes. “Mind if I cuddle up with you?”

He smiled back. “Sure,” he said, and she climbed into the crook of his arm and snuggled up.

She was perfect. She would do. Not every woman in the world as her—just her.

Faintly, he could feel the thrumming in her chest. Not a heartbeat—a steady vibration from her power core. It was typical of an android. You could almost believe that they were real people if you could ignore the thrumming. Why couldn’t the engineers dampen the vibration and build a heartbeat into those things?

It only reminded him that this Jane, too, was fake.

A wave of despair washed over him. His eyes settled on the decorative urn on the dresser. He couldn’t read the nameplate from across the room, but that he knew perfectly well what it said.

He began to cry.

“Chances”
Dystopian future
“…Chances aren't too strong; a chance is all there is…”
by David M. Fitzpatrick

Alanna and the rest of the young adults gathered in the town square. There were several hundred women who had begun to bleed every month, and there were men who just a few short years before had voices that cracked and squeaked but now were bigger, stronger, and hairier.

Alanna’s heart beat faster with the approaching drawing. She knew it was hopeless. She knew that getting who she wanted was impossible, and she knew she’s hate whoever she ended up with. She didn’t care about her mandated duty to society.

The new women milled about on one side of the square, all wearing the same simple dresses. The new men were on the other side, wearing short pants and little else. Rippling muscles and handsome features caught the eyes of many of the new women, who craned their necks to see the male specimens. The men returned the ogling.

There were two more women than there were men this year. Alanna had become a woman just two years ago, a late bloomer, and her first two drawings had been thankfully lopsided, with significantly more men than women. It was close this year, and she knew she’d likely end up with a man she didn’t want—just as Leela likely would. The thought made her heart ache.

Finally, the seven elders came out of the houses and climbed the steps to the platform in the center of the square. Two of them, a man and a woman, carried buckets filled with scraps of paper. The elder woman was Leela’s grandmother. She looked displeased, as she always did.

“It is time for the drawing,” the Grand Elder announced, and the crowd grew silent. And with that, Leela’s grandmother and the male bearer held up the buckets, and the Grand Elder reached into each and drew scraps of paper. He held them up, side by side, and read them.

“Taylor MacDonald,” he announced, “and Edie Jensen.”

Taylor’s face broke into a broad smile. He was a strapping young man, all biceps and pectoral muscles, tanned by the sun from working the fields. Alanna searched the crowd until she found Edie, who was blushing with excitement. She was a petite thing with a small bust but the sort of hips fit for bearing children. Neither she nor Taylor had cared who they’d get, but they were both clearly pleased with the results.

The Grand Elder pulled out two more scraps, and Alanna’s heart pounded. She didn’t want her name called. She hoped against hope. She looked over the crowd, trying to find the face of her best friend.

“Christopher Jones,” the Grand Elder announced, “and Sally Brown.”

Alanna didn’t see Chris, who she knew to be a good-looking man, but she heard Sally break into sobs somewhere in the crowd. Sally had long been in love with Derek Childers, and had hoped that they might be paired. But the chances were far too slim for anyone’s dreams to come true. Not as hopeless as Alanna’s, of course, but quite hopeless.

As the Grand Elder found two new scraps, Alanna found Leela. She was across the way, and she seemed a lot calmer than Alanna had expected. Alanna shot her a quizzical look, but the girl with the long blond hair just grinned. How could she smile at a time like this? Leela tilted her head quickly toward her grandmother on the platform, and when Alanna followed she saw the old woman glaring at her granddaughter. What was that about?

The Grand Elder went on pulling names and pairing people up. There were lots of smiles but plenty of frowns. Some of the women cried, and their friends comforted them. Eventually, though, they all paired up with their drawings, the women now effectively the property of the men.

As the sun-baked afternoon wore on and the random couples were paired, Alanna heard neither her nor Leela’s name called, which meant the chances only grew greater with every passing drawing. Then again, mathematically speaking, the chances of she and Leela being the two who would not be drawn also increased, so there was that. Alanna squeezed her eyes shut. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t go with some man she didn’t love, no matter what anyone said. She couldn’t pretend that the one she loved was out there, paired with someone else.

She felt Leela’s hand on her shoulder, and snapped her eyes open.

“You okay?” Leela whispered above the Grand Elder’s booming voice.

“No,” Alanna whispered back as the crowd murmured in approval of the announced pairing. “I can’t handle it. I don’t care—if they call my name I’ll refuse!”

“You can’t refuse—they’ll execute you for it. Besides,” she added in a soothing voice, laying a comforting hand on Alanna’s shoulder, “you won’t have to worry about a thing.”

Finally, against all odds, it was down to the last man and just three women: Alanna, Leela, and a very young woman named Kaylee. Kaylee had just begun bleeding two months ago, and quite a young age. The man, Frederick, was ten years her senior. He had come from another village where the women had long outnumbered the men, and he’d long been unlucky and never been drawn. He’d come here in hopes of serving society—and landing a woman. He already looked excited, knowing that, no matter what, he’d land one in just a moment.

“Frederick Cameron,” said the Grand Elder, “and Kaylee Harper.”

Frederick shot his fists into the air and moved quickly to claim his prize. Kaylee looked stunned, as if she’d been hit in the head with a rock, and continued to look that way even as he wrapped a muscular arm around her. She’d been playing with dolls last year; now, as a woman, she had become the property of a new man, one who wasn’t her father, and tonight she’d begin doing her duty to society.

“That is all for the men,” the Grand Elder said. “We have two women who are unclaimed this year. We pray that next year they will be successful in the drawing. Now, if you are a drawn woman, your man’s home is your new home. Take his name, serve him well, and do your duty.”

Most of the men were over-eager—as was evident by the behavior, if not the tenting of their short pants. Many of the women were as eager, but most wore blank expressions and many were visibly unhappy. Several were crying. The men all wrapped arms about their prizes and led them away like cattle to their barns. The town square cleared out quickly as the elders descended the platform and the married adults and children dispersed. Alanna and Leela stayed together, watching the dispersal, and when Leela’s grandmother walked by with her bucket, the angry look she shot the pair was so harsh that Alanna almost felt as if the old woman had punched her in the gut.

“Come on!” Leela hissed after the elders had passed, and she hurried off through the milling crowd for the forest. Alanna followed, and soon they were away from the commotion, far outside of town, alone under the old oak tree where they had come to play since they were kids.

“What luck!” Alanna cried. “What are the chances that both of us would not be drawn?”

“It wasn’t luck,” Leela said, her eyes sparkling blue beneath her blond hair. When she smiled, her cheeks puffed out and made her look even prettier. “I told you I took care of things. My grandmother arranged it for us. Our names were never in the bucket.”

Alanna’s eyes widened. “She disapproved of us—but she cheated, and risked execution?”

“I cried about it enough to Grammie, and she loves me too much, no matter her beliefs.”

Leela moved to her, took Alanna’s hand, and pressed up against her. The feel of the girl’s soft breasts squishing against her own was exhilarating, and when Leela leaned in, Alanna muckled on to her lips. The lovers kissed, hands sliding around bodies to caress and then to hug. They broke the kiss and tightened their embrace.

But finally Alanna couldn’t handle it, and she began crying. Leela pulled away. “What’s wrong, my love?”

“We can’t do this forever,” Alanna said. “Eventually, they’ll pair us with men. Why can’t they just let people decide who they want to be with? And why should anyone be forced to repopulate a world people destroyed in the first place? And why should we be executed for loving each other?”

Leela smiled and stroked Alanna’s black hair with a soft hand. “It’s ridiculous, but that’s what we’re stuck with. And that’s why we need to leave. They do things differently in other towns. If we travel far enough, maybe we’ll find one that will accept us.”

The sun was setting, and the air was sweet as a breeze blew the scent of nearby wildflowers over them. Alanna and Leela sat beneath their old tree, wrapped up in each other’s arms, and immersed themselves in their love.

“I wonder what it was like before the world ended,” Alanna said. “I bet two women could be in love and nobody cared.”

“Maybe, but I’m sure hate and intolerance were around long before we almost destroyed ourselves.”

They were quiet for a while, and finally Alanna said, “Let’s do it. Let’s take all we can carry and leave.”

Leela’s eyes widened. “Do you mean it?”

“Yes!” she cried. “Anything to be with you. Anything to love you. Anything to spend my life with you and not have to hide it from everyone. If the world must be reborn, it must do so with more than just new children. It needs new ideas, new acceptance, new understanding.”

Leela kissed her. “This is part of why I love you so much.”

They spent the night together under their tree, making love there one last time, and eager for what awaited beyond.

“Making Love Out of Nothing at All”
Sword & sorcery
“…I know all the rules and then I know how to break 'em…”
by David M. Fitzpatrick

The spell took days for Tennefer to work in the highest room of his stone tower. He was exhausted, hardly awake, barely on his feet. But this one was too important.

He incanted and enchanted, invoked and commanded. The magical energies across a thousand dimensions responded. The aura of energy had been taking shape the last several hours, but now it was coalescing to look vaguely human. The wavering rainbow of colors had taken on a slight hourglass shape. She was nearly created!

Tennefer grabbed another bookmarked volume and threw it open atop the pile of tomes from which he’d cast so far. He found the next spell, raised his hands, and cried out the words. His weakened voice echoed off the stone walls and out the open window into the night. The screech of a nearby owl and then the roar of a distant wyvern answered it.

She would be perfect, created by him and for him. She would be his ideal woman: the beauty that appealed to him, the body that excited him, the behaviors that he desired. And she would love him. That was the final spell that he worked feverishly to cast. His days of nonstop work would culminate in a woman created seemingly from nothing but actually from the magical forces of the universe—created to serve him, to please him, and to love him.

And finally he completed the spell, and the feminine shape floated in the air above and before him. Its skin still flashed with swirling colors, but he could see facial features. He needed only to utter the final linchpin words to the umbrella spell that contained all that he had done for nearly a hundred hours. He took a deep breath, raised his trembling hands once again, and called out those linchpins, and then it was done.

The energy being settled to the stone floor and there was a flash like a sun abruptly appearing in the middle of a moonless night. Tennefer squinted against it, but soon the light faded, and she stood before him, naked and stunned.

She was as beautiful as he’d envisioned and as perfect as he had planned. Thick and wavy black hair cascaded about her head and shoulders, framing a heart-shaped face with a button nose and full lips. She was healthy, with voluptuous curves, swelling breasts, broad hips, and a virgin cleft barely obscured by a dark thatch of hair. Dark eyes looked at him, confused, and then her brow raised in alarm, and she cried out in shame and fright, quickly covering her breasts with one arm and her crotch with the other hand.

“Fear not, my dearest maiden!” he cried as he rushed to her. “I have made you with the greatest of magicks. You are created as the perfect woman for me—my most loyal companion, my ever-faithful servant, my wizard’s apprentice, my forever wife, my intimate partner, and my devoted love.”

She blinked in surprise, and then her face calmed, and she seemed to lose her embarrassment. She uncovered herself and stood before him, stunningly beautiful and incredibly resplendent in her naked perfection.

“You who have given me life,” she said, her head bowed to him, “I thank you. I cannot repay you for this honor.”

“You will repay me with your companionship,” he said, smiling and tired.

“For this gift of life, I will be your loyal companion,” she conceded, her eyes still to the floor. “And I shall be your ever-faithful servant. I will remain at your side and do as you bid. And if you wish me to learn the sorcerous arts, then I shall work forever to make you proud.”

“Ah, yes!” he cried out. He had done it!

“And of course I will be your wife, and do your intimate bidding and make you happy,” she said, head bowed and eyes downcast. “My body is yours to do with as you please, and please you I shall, in any way that I can.”

Now she stepped forward, and Tennefer felt himself growing excited, for her nakedness was overpowering. She moved until her nipples were mere inches from his sweat-stained robes, and then she finally lifted her head and looked into his eyes. And his heart almost stopped when he saw the blankness in her gaze.

“But I cannot repay you with my devoted love,” she said, “for I do not love you.”

And in that moment of exhaustion and devastation, Tennefer realized that there was one thing all his most powerful magic could not do—one thing it could never guarantee.

He could make a woman out of nothing, nearly perfect and suited to him in every way, but no matter how many dimensions he tapped to work his grand spells, he could never make love out of nothing at all.

David M. Fitzpatrick is a fiction writer in Maine, USA. His many short stories have appeared in print magazines and anthologies around the world. He writes for a newspaper, writes fiction, edits anthologies, and teaches creative writing. Visit him at www.fitz42.net/writer to learn more.