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K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N
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WARNING!
This text file contains sexually explicit
material. If you do not wish to read this
type of literature, or you are under age,
PLEASE DELETE THIS FILE NOW!!!!
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Copyright 1997 by Lysander (lysander@bitsmart.com) This
story may not be archived at any site that would charge
for access to it. This story may not be sold as part of
any collection that charges more than a nominal copying
fee. Otherwise, this story may be distributed freely by
electronic means as long as the title, my pseudonym and
this copyright statement are not changed or removed.
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She Invited Me to Fuck Her Over the Net
by Lysander (lysander@bitsmart.com)
***
A man with an unusual ability to control minds, but when
he finds that he can manipulate inanimate objects, like
computer porn on his computer screen, well, that is
really unusual. (MF, mc, humor)
***
If you're ever sitting in the airport waiting for a
plane, or sitting on a subway or bus or sitting in a
bar, and you feel a little tickle or tingle on your
clit, maybe it's just a trick of your circulation. Or
maybe not. Look around and if you see an average-looking
guy with a mole on the right side of his neck,
scratching his finger on his seat or one next to him,
then you see him give you a wave. It's probably me
you're seeing. And if you don't mind my little 'hobby',
mouth the word "Thanks," and if you do, the mouthed word
"No" works pretty good.
I don't know how I got to be the way I am. I wasn't hit
by lightning and I didn't down some weird chemicals. I
didn't even subject myself to massive amounts of gamma
radiation. Puberty was pretty normal for me and I've
never had a concussion. All I know is that one day I was
looking for my keys, but they didn't seem to be anywhere
in my apartment. So I was doing all the usual shit,
retracing my steps, looking in the same place two or
three times, like that.
Anyway, I put my hand in my pocket again, just in case I
missed them the first time and I almost -- but didn't
quite feel them. Like I was feeling the ghost of them or
maybe I was feeling them wrapped in cotton. And I could
not-quite-feel more metal around them, in a cylindrical
shape. On a hunch, I opened the apartment door and there
they were, sticking out of the doorknob.
Weird, huh?
Then, another time I bought an alarm clock at K-mart. I
paid for it with a fifty and got a twenty back with my
change. I could feel that twenty vibrating and pulling
me, even through my wallet. Or maybe it wasn't a pull.
Maybe it was more like when you wet your finger and hold
it up to feel which way the breeze is blowing. I felt
that twenty guiding me. I followed the pushing and
pulling of that bill for about five miles, turning left,
then right, then left, following a more or less diagonal
path from the store until I found myself outside a
suburban split-level with a boy of about twelve playing
with a Tonka dump-truck on the sidewalk.
The boy would push the little truck as hard as he could
up the sidewalk, then run and chase after it, then push
it back in the other direction. I could feel the bill in
my wallet trying to follow him, tugging one way and then
pushing the other. I got out of my car and said hello to
him. Naturally he was a little wary of me, since I was a
stranger, but it was probably his house he was in front
of and being on his own turf gave him a enough courage
to talk to me. I asked him where he got the truck. He
said he'd bought it at the K-mart earlier that day.
"You mean your mom and dad bought it for you?"
"No, I bought it myself. My gramma sent me twenty
dollars for my birthday last month."
No shit. The same twenty-dollar bill I had in my wallet,
I bet.
As an experiment, I took that twenty out of the money
compartment of my wallet and put it behind my driver's
license, so I wouldn't accidentally spend it. For a week
or so, I could feel every move that kid made. Mostly to
school and back, I assume. But over time, the feeling
went away. When I couldn't feel him anymore, I spent the
twenty on a carton of Salems. As I left the store, I
could feel the twenty pulling on me. Later in the day, I
felt it moving. That night, I followed the tugging of
the bill until I was sitting in my car outside a bank.
So I went home and had a long think. I went over every
possibility and none of them made sense. So I went over
every impossibility until I thought I had an answer. I'm
not going to tell you what the answer is but you can
probably figure it out. Thing is though, it didn't work
out when I tried it again. I knew I hadn't imagined that
week when that twenty had been tugging on me, trying to
get back to the boy, or when it was calling me to the
bank. So, it was real and it worked for a long time but
then it didn't work anymore after I doped out a reason.
So from then on, every time a new ability crops up, I
don't wonder about it too much. Maybe it's the thinking
that kills it. I hear Plato said that all the planets
and stars were set on big crystal balls inside each
other and the earth was in the center of all these
balls. Then this guy Newton looked up in the sky and
thought about it and said bullshit. Maybe Plato was
right until Newton came along.
Maybe Newton busted Plato's balls. All I know is, as
long as I don't think about it too much, I can feel how
many eggs are cracked in a carton at the supermarket, I
can tell how many people are on a given floor of a
building, I can read the graffiti scratched on a
bathroom stall even when it's been painted over, and
I've never lost my keys again.
Oh yeah, and I can tickle women's clits from across the
room.
Well, not exactly from across the room. I have to be in
contact with the same kind of seat she's on, and I have
to be able to see her. So if a woman is sitting on a
barstool and I'm at a table, I can't touch her. And all
I can do is tickle her. I tried pinching an ass once and
it gave me a headache. Don't know why, don't want to
know why.
I can't really make a woman cum that way. If I'm sitting
on the same seat as her, I can sometimes. I was at a
wedding once, and there was a pretty woman on the same
pew as me. I diddled my finger on the empty space beside
me for a few minutes. It didn't take long for her to
turn beet-red and give a little shiver, then slump down
a little on the pew. That was fun. So are high school
football games, but then I can never tell if a woman is
getting excited because of me or because of the score.
Mostly, all I can do is give a little tickle. I can't
even really feel what I'm tickling. It's like with the
keys; almost like I can feel the shadow of a pussy. But
it's fun anyhow.
But, this whole Internet thing has opened up a whole new
world for me. By now everybody and his mother knows what
spam is. Most of it, I hate as much as the next person.
But this one time I tried out an offer for 5 minutes of
free "sex" on the net. You know, it's like phone sex
except you can see the girl. You can ask her to pose how
you want and whatnot and she does it, but they charge a
god-awful amount of money. I never saw much worth to it,
but daddy always told me to never turn down a free meal.
So I'm at this site, looking at really annoying video of
a girl. I type in that I want to see her tits and she
takes off her bikini top, but the picture's real choppy,
like an intermittent satellite feed. I type that I want
to see her snatch. Off come the bottoms. How about some
pink? She sits down on a couch and spreads her legs.
The picture quality's so lousy I can't really see her
slit. All I can make out is the fact that she's shaved
her lips. It's just one solid band of cafe au lait
beneath a black triangle. I ask for a zoom-in. No can
do, they tell me. So I reach out with my index finger to
see if maybe I can clear my screen up a little bit.
My finger went *into* the screen. I am not making this
up. I watched it sink through the picture tube. I
couldn't see it inside the monitor's guts, but what I
felt nearly gave me a heart attack. I can feel flesh.
Warm, living, honest-to-God flesh.
And the real kicker is I can feel stubble. I move my
finger back and forth a little, hoping I don't run into
a nose. Nope, I'm touching pussy, the pussy of the girl
I'm typing to over the net.
"Holy shit!" is right. This was way better than the
clit-tickling. I could feel her pussy like she was
sitting right in front of me with my hand between her
thighs. I slipped my finger between her lips. She was
pretty dry of course. After all, she's in some little
room with a camera pointed at her and somebody sitting
at a terminal telling her what the jerk-off at the other
end of the line wants her to do. But no doubt about it,
it's pussy I got my finger in.
The weird thing is, I don't detect a reaction from her
on the screen. I type in, one-handed of course, that I
want her to turn over on her knees. She brings her legs
together and sort of swivels on her butt and rolls onto
her knees, I guess so she can stay in the camera frame.
But I can feel her slit rotate around my finger. So I
can feel her but she can't feel me. How come? I don't
know, I don't want to know.
I hear a tone from my computer and see a message saying
my time is up and would I like to pay the fee to join
the site? I jerk my finger out of the monitor real
quick. After all, I don't know if, when the connection
breaks, it's going to take my finger with it.
Did I join the site? Hell, yes I did. And I paid for the
Gold membership where I get thirty minutes a day and the
girls masturbate for me because I figure they might get
a little wetter that way. The very next day, I went out
and bought a 21-inch monitor and arranged for an ISDN
line. I could've saved myself some money, though. Those
extra inches don't seem to make any difference, but with
the ISDN, it actually feels *better* than real when I
put my dick up to the screen and sink it into a warm
pussy.
Of course, I can't get a blowjob this way, and trying to
butt-fuck one of the girls gave me a worse headache than
the ass-pinching episode. The girl can't feel me and I
can't feel her with anything but my cock, since I have
to use both hands to hold the monitor. And I don't have
to worry about disease.
In fact, the only thing I do worry about is whether the
inside of my monitor is getting coated with dried cum.
But like I say: I don't know, I don't want to know.
END
(For those who've never heard of it, Treet is a canned
meat-like product similar to Spam, made from beef and
beef-products. -L)
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Please keep this story, and all erotic stories out of
the hands of children. They should be outside playing
in the sunshine, not thinking about adult situations.
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Kristen's collection - Directory 69