Message-ID: <49138asstr$1094728202@assm.asstr-mirror.org> Return-Path: <vdkblm-OBLITERATE-SPAM!@yahoo.com> X-Original-To: ckought69@hotmail.com Delivered-To: ckought69@hotmail.com From: Vivian Darkbloom <vdkblm-OBLITERATE-SPAM!@yahoo.com> X-Original-Message-ID: <1094705064.4869.10.camel@proto.local> Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Transfer-Encoding: 8bit X-ASSTR-Original-Date: Wed, 08 Sep 2004 21:44:24 -0700 Subject: {ASSM} Jasmin (part V) Lines: 733 Date: Thu, 9 Sep 2004 07:10:02 -0400 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org> Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: <URL:http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/Year2004/49138> X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> X-Story-Submission: <ckought69@hotmail.com> X-Moderator-ID: IceAltar, dennyw To more fully enjoy this story in living, breathing HTML, please visit our website at: http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/VivianDarkbloom/www/ Please also note that there is now a preface, to explain the codes. I removed some of the codes, having realized that they pertained to events which did not actually occur in my imagination, but which I only imagined had occurred. The story's almost done... one more chapter to go. ~~Vivian -------------------------------------------------------- Jasmin (part V) by Vivian Darkbloom To be honest, we didn't get around to strolling in the park immediately. In fact, it took sort of a while. I realize, we were supposed to get there in the last chapter, but sometimes these things take longer than one plans. It started when she lay down on the bed, and made motions as if to take a short little nap. Drained by the heat, I thought maybe it wouldn't be such a bad idea, so I joined her. Then we started with a couple of little kisses. They kind of added up, a little, and soon there were a lot of pretty intense kisses, with some other fun stuff thrown in. Then the clothes kind of fell off (because it was so hot, you know). Soon we were having full-on passionate sex. Funny thing was, how drained we had both been feeling, like we just had to lie down, and then soon we're letting loose enough energy to power a dozen cities. As we were lying there afterwards, in cozy cuddling mode, it got me to thinking how much I really care for this girl, and worrying about how I would cope if something terrible were to happen to her, or we had to separate, and so on. Ah, the blissful ecstasy of being in love. By then we were both pretty hungry (I turned down the offer to share some of her candy), so eventually we both dragged ourselves out of bed and pulled on enough to wear to look decent, and headed down to where the girl in the ponytail had said might be a Chinese restaurant. Sure enough, it was, as it turned out some of the best Chinese food I have ever had. At the end we had fortune cookies. Mine was: By accomplishing nothing, nothing is left unaccomplished. Hers was: Your past present before you is your future. I wasn't quite sure what that meant, and she shrugged and said, "oh, well it's just by chance anyway." "There's no such thing." She eyed me keenly. "No such thing as chance?" "That's right." "So, if I roll a dice, or shuffle a deck of cards, the number I get isn't by chance?" "It may seem highly chaotic, but it's not random. Everything has a meaning and a purpose." She laughed and stood up to go. "Whatever. I still say it's by chance." I followed her out the door, and we walked down the street to the park. The sun was beneath the treetops now, and though it hadn't quite set the air was cooler, just perfect in fact, as we strolled down the deserted, neatly paved street. Funny how the pavement had begun right here. It was a nice little park, with immaculately manicured green lawns, and a little abandoned swingset with a slide. We went over to the swings and were soon laughing and conversing as alternate pendulums rushing backward, then forward, then backward, then forward through space. "What's that over there?" she asked. "Where?" She pointed, on her next upswing. It was barely visible at the apogee of the curve, the head of a statue over the crest of a neatly manicured green hilltop, no doubt a monument to one of the founding fathers of this great town. After a few minutes more of swinging, we landed in the clean fresh sand, and rolled over together onto the grass, where she lay on top of me as we both caught our breath. "You want to go check it out?" she asked. "Sure, not much else to do. Let's head back after." "'K." But as the statue emerged, rising over the crest of the hill as we walked towards it, we saw that it was not a founding father at all, but what seemed to be woman. No, not a woman, a girl, facing us. The girl looked rather familiar. "She looks like me," said Jasmin. "I'd have to agree," I agreed. "It's a little spooky," she said. "but I suppose young girls all sort of look the same." "No," I said. "You're a lot more beautiful than the rest." She laughed. "You're just saying that," but she knew I wasn't. We arrived in front of the statue and stared up at it. The likeness was uncanny, though the statue was a lot larger than life. The sculptor had effectively caught a very little-girl-like gesture, and her expression was an odd combination of gaiety and solemnity, as if the poor artist had been told to redo it numerous times, first "too happy," then "too sad," then "too happy," and so on, until finally it had arrived at a nonexistent spot in between the two. Looking at the foot of the pedestal, I saw the plaque. I pointed, and she read it too. IN MEMORY Jasmin McCloud, Lost in Space, 2221 Donated by the McCloud Foundation. "OK," she said. "This is pretty seriously spooky." She was staring up at herself, when a young voice behind us piped up, "You look like the girl in the statue." We both wheeled around to look. Shyly uncertain at the edge of the walkway, over to our left, was a girl about Jasmin's age... her apparent age, that is, about eleven. The girl was stunningly beautiful, her face of statuesque Slavic features, and long blonde curly hair trickling down her back and shoulders, in colors that ranged from butter to vanilla ice-cream. She wore a light blouse, prim and proper in design, white in color, trimmed tastefully at the edges with curved accents of deep maroon lace. The material was of almost see-through mesh, to keep cool in the heat, no doubt, and I could barely make out that she was wearing no bra -- not that she would have needed one. The dress ended just above her knees, and as if in unison, Jasmin and I stared, entranced, at her beautifully skinny smooth legs that descended so gracefully to her long thin bare feet. "Where did you come from?" demanded Jasmin. "Jeez, you startled us." The girl was smiling, with awkward introversion, but unable to conceal her fascination with Jasmin. "Lots of girls come to town saying they're the girl in the statue, and then the institute says they're not and they leave again. But they never come over to look at the statue. I think you're the girl in the statue." "Well, my name is Jasmin, but it must be just a coincidence. What's yours?" "Hi, I'm Angela. My family comes here on vacation, and we're leaving tomorrow, but I always come over to look at the girl in the statue, because I think she's the most beautiful girl I've ever seen, and I know she's not really lost, but she'll come back some day, and I think you're the girl in the statue." I could tell Jasmin was losing her patience with this stream of rambling, simple-minded and obsequious attention. Angela smiled silently, China-blue eyes unblinking. "Can I touch your hand?" she asked softly. Jasmin and I exchanged glances. "Sure," replied Jasmin, reaching out her right hand to shake. Angela slowly walked over, in her simple daze, gently taking Jasmin's hand in both of hers, and gave her one of the most lovingly sensuous long, luxurious moist kisses on the back of her hand that I have ever seen. Glancing up, she observed Jasmin's typically cynical expression of consternation and disbelief, and Angela, with an indescribably fragile expression of sadness, abruptly ran away, bare feet padding across the walkway, then dimpling the lawn as her graceful dress swirled around her, and vanished through the trees. Jasmin was silent for a moment or two, then said: "What was that?" "I think she likes you," I replied. After standing pointlessly before the statue for a while longer, the cue for something else to happen never came, so we awkwardly made an unspoken decision to walk back in silence. "She mentioned something about an Institute," I said. "Did she?" "I think we should look there." Jasmin shrugged. It was starting to get dark now, so we strolled along the unlit boulevard, holding hands, watching the stars come out. ____________________________________________________________ On inquiring of the lady at the hotel front desk about the institute, we discovered that it was locked up tight for the night, and would re-open promptly at 8 the next morning. We then headed back to our room where, exhausted with the tumultuous events of the day, we both tore off our clothes and hit the bed like two statues, delving deep into blissful, passionate... sleep. ____________________________________________________________ Late at night, I awoke, and became aware from her breathing that she was awake. Her warmth beside me was comforting. Finally she sighed and turned to face me. "Did she get to you, too?" she asked. "I guess," I said. "You know, I think I forgot to tell you, but I totally adore young girls." She laughed. "It's OK. I do too." She rested her chin on her forearm, studying me. Finally she said: "How about you pretend that I'm her, and I pretend that you're her. You can fuck me from behind, so we can both close our eyes, and let our imaginations run wild." "But how will you pretend I'm a woman?" She twitched her eyebrows devilishly. "Maybe she has a doubled-ended dildo." "That shy sweet little thing? I doubt it." "Yeah, but that's what makes it fun. When those innocent little girls turn out to be kinkier than you thought." "I wouldn't know anything about that," I replied. Thinking for a moment, I asked, "Do you think she'd let us both have her at once?" She just smiled. I hadn't noticed that she had been caressing my penis into fullness, when she gently pushed her ringed fingers over the tip, sending shivers of full stiffness through my body. She turned over onto her knees, and spread her cheeks towards me, reaching under her legs to guide me inside of her. Her jagged cry on that first contact grabbed my libido and shook it all about. I shoved my unabating fiery rod into her dripping caverns, and we both cut our imaginations loose, like two lions sniffing each other. "Angela," she called out softly, over and over, "Oh Angela, I love you, oh, Angela," and so on. For awhile, I closed my eyes and imagined that I was making love to the sweet little curly-haired blonde girl we had met for so few moments before she had slipped through our fingers. But hearing Jasmin call out her name so repeatedly caused an amazing transformation... I began to imagine that I was Angela, making love with Jasmin, that the long buttery vanilla curls were mine, that it was my body that was so sleek and smooth and young, my beauty that turned the sexual key in the lock of my young lover. A blissful wind filled the sails of my sexual abandon, and carried me with grand leisure, easily soaring over the waves and into the depths of release, as once again I shared the experience of orgasm with the girl I love as we both came, convulsing ecstatically together. Later, after we had caught our breath and were both resting in the smell of newly committed sex, she asked: "So how was that?" "Fun," I said. "And you?" She laughed. "Oh yeah." Gradually we both fell comfortably asleep. ____________________________________________________________ The next day, we got directions from the nice lady at the front desk, then set off on the road to the institute. Apparently they were the ones who owned the park, and paved the roads nearby everything they owned. We were lone pedestrians on the road underneath a tropical sun that was beginning to blare. She stopped to listen. "Do you hear music?" I stopped, and nodded. I heard it too. "The ride of the valkeries," I identified. Abruptly over the hill ahead of us, a fancy green land-van came into sight and hurtled toward us, floating several inches in the air on its antigrav pods, overwhelming us with the high-fidelity valkeries. The driver hadn't been expecting pedestrians on the road, and swerved slightly to avoid us as it swooshed by and vanished in the opposite direction, the music fading with it. Nowadays, land vehicles are so quiet that they customarily announce themselves by playing music so that pedestrians, equestrians, and bicyclists won't be startled. The sound of a modern highway would warm the heart of Charles Ives. We soon heard the music behind us again, and this time the driver stopped and leaned out the window. "Are you headed to the institute?" he asked. "Uh, yeah." "Would you like a ride?" We both (at the same moment) noticed the impressively lettered writing in green and gold on the side of the van: Jasmin McCloud Memorial Institute and Foundation Shuttle service We exchanged glances. "Sure." "I guess this starts to answer the question of what happened to your mom and dad," I commented as we climbed in. We shared the compartment with a few formally-dressed men and women, apparently on their way to work. "You just get off the monorail?" I inquired, and they nodded. We drove by a sign, set on a hill in the middle of an impressive flower garden, boasting a similar inscription as the side of the van. "Pretty seriously spooky," murmured Jasmin. We reached our destination, as the driveway passed underneath a high overarching roof. "Thanks," we said, as the driver smiled, waved, and drove off, and our fellow riders dissolved into doorways, leaving us standing alone together in the middle of the immense shaded brick-paved front patio, large-leaved plants on all sides. Wordlessly, we found our way to the main entrance, and stepped inside an airconditioned and luxuriously businesslike main lobby. Before us, behind an imposing counter decorated with vertical lines of wood, sat a woman with short businesslike hair and dark attire. She frowned at something invisible to us, in front of her. "May I help you?" she inquired frostily. Jasmin stepped up to the counter and stood on tiptoes to see. "I'm Jasmin McCloud," she said. "and I want to know what happened to my mom and dad." The woman looked up, studying her briefly. "Not a bad imitation. I'd have to say though, the girl before you was more convincing. Looked a lot more like her. Amazing what cheap plastic surgery will accomplish nowadays." She glared dismissively at me. "And I suppose you're the rescuer, seeking the reward?" "Reward?" I replied. "Nice touch," she shrugged. "Feigning ignorance. It's been tried before, of course." I could sense the fury building inside of Jasmin. "Jazz," I warned. "Lady," she exploded, "I don't care what some iced-over paper-pushing bitch thinks. I know who I am. And, unlike you, I don't need plastic surgery." Her bangs were getting to the point where they landed directly in her eyes, and she had perfected a little puff of air upward from her lips (which she gave now) to blow them away. The lady blinked, with the hint of a smile. "Flattery will get you nowhere," she replied, pushing some papers across the top of the counter. "Here are the forms. You'll need to fill out all three pages, both sides. Not that it matters, now that someone leaked all of the correct answers on the Galactranet. In the end, it's not up to me. You'll need to pass the genetics test." Jasmin promptly tore the forms into little pieces and threw them back over the counter. "I don't need your fucking forms. I need to know what happened to my mom and dad. Can't anyone just tell me?" She started to cry and I took her in my arms. Another lady stepped out curiously from behind, a long-haired blonde woman in light olive formal dress. "What's going on here?" she asked. Seeing us, she said, "Oh, sorry. I thought it sounded like my daughter, though," (raising her eyebrows) "she doesn't typically use such language." When Jasmin looked up, the woman froze for a moment, then slowly walked over and bent down to talk to her. "What's going on," she asked gently. "I want to know what happened to my mom and dad," Jasmin replied, still crying a little. "You're Jasmin McCloud?" asked the blonde woman. "Yes." I nodded too. "If that's true, you're a very wealthy little girl," said the blonde woman. "And I would be your great-great-great-great-great niece..." she laughed. "Did I put in seven `greats?'" The woman couldn't take her eyes off of Jasmin. The woman behind the desk fidgeted, frowned, and resumed what she had been doing. "Maybe if you saw the ship, it would help," I offered. "It's parked up at the spacestation." "Doesn't take much to rent one of those antiques," broke in the lady behind the desk. "Mabel, that will be enough," said the blonde woman. She turned back to Jasmin. "My name is Jacinda. Can I offer you something to drink?" "Yes thank you. Do you have radioactive-lime soda?" Jacinda smiled. "Follow me. You know, that's one of the questions on the test?" Jasmin's rage returned momentarily, as we started to walk "You mean everything about me is floating around for everyone to read?" Jacinda's eyes were gentle, as she led us back through the doorway she had come through, and down a hall to a conference room. "I think the correct answer on the test was `Creme soda.'" Jasmin snorted. "I had it once, and I guess said I liked it. But it was hardly my favorite." "You know, this is going to sound funny, but you remind me so much of my mother. Have a seat, I'll be right back." She returned with the scary-looking green soda, which Jasmin slurped eagerly, and a couple of hardbound books, history books. "The Syrene McClouds," was the title of one. "This one has pictures of your mom and dad," she opened it. "You know, they spent decades searching for you. They offered a substantial reward for anyone who found your ship, which has obviously been uncollected all these years, though it's been adjusted for inflation. And they left you with a large sum of inheritance, which has been kept in investments that have grown in significantly value." Jasmin pored over the pictures, fascinated. "Wow, all in a book, like they're all famous or something. A lot older than I remember them," She started to cry again, silently, and pushed the book back onto the table. Jacinda watched her kindly. "The will your father left behind requires the genetic testing, so whenever you're ready we can go do it. The machine is down the hall, and it only takes a few minutes." She smiled. "I've watched a lot of these girls come and go, trying to collect the treasure." She glanced briefly up at me, but she couldn't take her eyes off of Jasmin. ____________________________________________________________ At this point, even I had been starting to half-wonder if she were the real Jasmin, or if this were maybe an elaborate prank being played on me. But no, she pressed her hand against the plate of glass, and a few minutes later the machine spat out a sheet of paper with green flags on every item. Every single marker matched. Jasmin grinned widely. ____________________________________________________________ The next few months were a bit overwhelming. The money was certainly nice, but everything became so complex all of a sudden. She was accustomed to it, but for me, being surrounded by opulence was a novel experience. The first thing to happen was that we moved out of the motel we had been staying at, into a wing of Jacinda's home in the big city. The lady at the front desk was very happy for us when she heard the news. Jacinda very kindly provided us with two bedrooms, and discreet maids hopefully did not remark on the fact that one of the beds never got used, nor on the necessity to apply a variety of specialized stain removal techniques on various occasions. As far as Jasmin and I, our continuing love for each other astonished both of us. Our mutual imperfections were somehow perfectly matched, and every kinky little desire that popped up, that one of us was afraid to mention, turned out to be exactly the thing the other wanted. I think she knows me better than I do myself. We refrained from discussing our relationship with her family, and they would occasionally ask prodding questions, but for the most part they were willing to let the matter slide. Though it's hard to believe they didn't at least suspect something, Jasmin was revered like a goddess, nobody would confront such a topic to her face. Xavier was suitably amazed when I called him up and told him about the institute and the reward and so on. Jasmin's family wanted to tow the ship away into a museum but Jasmin protested, so instead they docked it in a part of the same spacestation that the McCloud family happened to own, where it was fully attended and guarded at all times. In the meantime, I used a portion of the reward money to acquire a new ship, a Spectre 3.0 (top of the line) that I had been drooling over for a few years now, but had been unable to afford. I got the model with physical instrumentation to supplement the holo-dials, so that Jasmin would be happy with it, and we would go out together under the guise of my providing flight instruction. The truth was that I didn't have a lot to teach her. She is the most amazing pilot I have ever met, and I would sit beside her watching the manoeuvres she practiced inside the Syrene solar system, in a continual state of awe and amazement. Back on the planet, there was the seemingly endless stream of relatives that would come and visit, some hinting at the desire for monetary favors, others simply wanting to tell the story that they had met the famous personage. Then there were the TV appearances. We each got to relate our respective sides of the story numerous times, until the telling of it became so well-polished that I had nearly forgotten the actual events. There was a fair amount of interest in the cloaking device which I had invented, and a number of investors popped up with various offers. I could have made a lot of money off of it, but I didn't want it to become something available only to the rich. So I finally settled on a arrangement that made it legal to freely distribute the algorithm for any use other than by the Inquisition, and I wound up making a fair amount of money off of it anyway, from the pre-packaged version distributed by a company that had sprang up for the purpose. When Jasmin and I were on TV, they always wanted us to play our duets together, so we got used to carrying the harp and flute with us wherever we went. At first, they were very kind, considering that neither of us was all that accomplished of a musician. But after awhile, we had practiced enough to even provide a reasonable semblance of entertainment. Our presence presented the opportunity to bring up the topic of religious persecution, and various commentators and experts would show up to hash over every agonized detail of the topic. On Syrene where, after all, the Inquisition was outlawed, my stories met with sympathetic audiences. Now and then Jasmin would drop a hint about the young girl with blonde curls who had been standing by the statue when we first laid eyes on it, saying that she would really like to talk to Angela again. Interviewers would ask Jasmin what her plans were, and the one that kept coming up was "return to Capricorn." It was an idea that I discouraged. In fact, I had chosen to take the big step and become a Syrenian citizen. Aside from anything else, I decided that I like the way they do things here. But Jasmin was young and eager to roam, plus the idea of taking a voyage in ten days that had once, in her lifetime, consumed ten years, was of great fascination to her. We watched the video in which her father read the will, word for word, even though the document was also written out and signed by both her parents. I recognized the faces, style of gesture, and body-language from the message on the ship, though obviously the couple in this film were much older. First, her mom came on. "Jasmin, I hope you recognize me. This is your mom speaking. I and your father hope very much that you will be watching this some day, though we have had to let go of the hope that it might happen during our lifetimes. "We want you to know that we love you very much, and we have done everything we possibly can to find you, sent out ships, hired inventors to create new methods of detecting lost ships, posted rewards... you wouldn't believe how much effort we have spent of our lives trying to think of some way to have you back with us again. "We have left behind enough drotchkings so that you will be able to live well, though it will be managed by our trust until you turn eighteen, biologically speaking. "We also created a foundation to commit charitable acts in your name so that," (she smiled) "wherever you go in the universe, you will know that you are welcomed. And now," (she turned) "your father would like to read our will, regarding your inheritance and the foundation." And, just like a man, he read every single word, with no emotional or expressive additions of any kind. She was to continue with her schooling, which became a point of some tension between her and her family for a while. She did not wish to participate in the classroom experience, but preferred to do private study at home, on her own time. After much fuss, the family agreed to let me supervise the home schooling, especially after I produced the records of a teaching credential I had once earned many moons before. The persistence of my presence on the scene was a point of some controversy in circles outside the family, and ample fodder for disgusting (but often true) allegations splashed across various tabloid journals, which provided countless luridly dramatic fantasies for millions of lonely middle-aged women across the galaxy. Equally risqu�were the famed rumors of Jasmin's lesbianism. In fact, sometime during the two centuries she had spent missing, there had sprang up a half-serious cult of lesbian Jasmin-worshipers, who revered the mysteriously absent bi-goddess and held conventions and orgies in her name on various occasions. A representative of the cult turned up at Jacinda's door one day, only to be summarily shuffled away. Though I know that Jasmin would have been perfectly happy to -- um, -- talk with them. Finally, for a number of reasons, Jasmin and I decided to move out of the city and into our own home. And yes, she wanted me to stay with her. After some deliberation, we settled on a location nearby where the institute, which was sufficiently rural to suit our need for privacy, but close enough to give the family the opportunity to keep an eye on her. Our inquiries around the city of Old New Oldtown turned up absolutely zero information regarding Angela or her family. It was as if she had never existed. Sometimes we would stroll through the park near twilight, hoping to round a corner or crest a hilltop to be greeted by a beautiful young girl with blonde curls, but none appeared. The girl with the ponytail was named Susan, and Jasmin convinced her to come over for dinner a couple of times, but aside from the three of us cuddling on the couch together watching a movie, and the astoundingly satisfying fantasies Jasmin and I had together after Susan had left, nothing really came of it. I was able to hire a number of talented instructors in various fields educate Jasmin in topics in which I was not an expert, including a rather butch-looking older woman with short hair who instructed her on the fineries of fencing and archery, and a bubblingly cheerful lady with bright red curly hair who inspired her to profound heights of musical insight and technical ingenuity with harp and voice. ____________________________________________________________ One night, we sat out on the balcony under the brightly twinkling stars, playing flute-and-harp duets together. In between songs, she said: "It's time for me to return to Capricorn." "OK," I sighed. The next morning we boarded the elevator to my ship, and soon found ourselves in the infraspace corridor headed towards Capricorn. ____________________________________________________________ For more stories, visit our site on asstr-mirror.org http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/VivianDarkbloom/www/ -- Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated. +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ | alt.sex.stories.moderated ------ send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com>| | FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html> Moderators: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ |ASSM Archive at <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org> Hosted by <http://www.asstr-mirror.org> | |Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d; look for subject {ASSD}| +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+