GENEROUS SPIRIT 03

GENEROUS SPIRIT

PART THREE: SEEING THE LIGHT


copyright 2004-2005
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PART THREE: SEEING THE LIGHT

CHAPTER 1 Glenn dropped in at his Upper West Side apartment before going to
work. After a few seconds of sorting through his mail, he checked his messages
(just one from Joe, his best friend, reminding him that they were meeting to
play pool at nine that night). Then he dug through his desk drawer and found a
plastic ruler.

This is what he'd been wanting to do for the last twenty-four hours. He
stripped naked and flopped backside-down on his bed. He would need to be hard,
and he knew just what to think of to accomplish that. He replayed moments of
the night with Isabella in his mind, seeing her dancing above him, seeing her
big breasts swaying or jiggling as he pumped his cock into her body, or the
way that her jaw widened and her nostrils flared when she deep-throated him.
With just a few encouraging flicks from his fingertips on the growing length
of his penis, his cock became completely hard and pointed at the ceiling. He
was shocked when he fitted the ruler next to his equipment. Eight and
seven-eighths inches? Had he been a little off in his earlier estimation, or
had he grown more?

He stood and looked at his reflection in the mirror. He couldn't be sure Ñ it
would have helped if he'd measured himself before now Ñ but he thought it
likely that he was slightly larger than yesterday morning. Which meant...
what? That whatever process had enlarged him was still active? That he would
continue to grow? His heart raced at that thought. What if he did keep
growing? And why was it happening? Was it some chemical, not yet eliminated
from his system? He wished that he knew what was going on.

But he couldn't argue with the results. He had made love to Isabella six
times(!), and there had been no diminishment in his ability to get hard or
come furiously. It was obvious to him that whatever had altered the dimensions
of his equipment had also given him the staying power of a sex machine. Again
he studied the reflected image of this huge new rod protruding from his body.
He thought he looked different somehow, in some way that went beyond the
enlarged equipment. Maybe it was an expression of deep satisfaction, the
relaxing of facial muscles that can only come after a long night with a
fabulously beautiful lover.

Well, as much as his attention was consumed by what he saw in the mirror, he
had to end this study of his tool and get dressed for work. Maybe some miracle
or secret experiment had been forced upon him, but he still had to make a
living. He hurried through his morning rituals of showering and shaving, and
picked out his baggiest trousers to wear to the office. They were even looser
than he remembered, all the better to conceal the added mass in his groin.
Maybe the change wasn't evident when he was unstimulated, but Glenn would see
a fair amount of Crystal Skensgard today, and talk about stimulating. The
thought of his bigger cock hardening in her presence made him feel especially
anxious. He was anxious, too, to see what kind of information Crystal had
uncovered about Cassandra Bliss and GlobalGro Industries. Perhaps he could
pick up a trail that would lead to some answers.

He went straight for Dalene Fine's desk at The Sourcerer's main offices.
Dalene was a forty-ish and fairly round African-American woman with an open,
pleasing face and exceptional organizational and people skills. She also had a
way of knowing ahead of time everything that was going on at the paper, so
much so that she had been nick-named The Oracle. If you wanted to know what
other people were doing, or what you yourself were supposed to be doing, then
you went to Dalene.

"Welcome back, Glenn. Productive trip?"

"I guess so. Strange, anyway."

"Strange is what we sell around here. And speaking of strange, what's that big
grin doing plastered on your face? Looks to me like you've been doing the
hanky-panky."

She stared at him brightly, her full cheeks and round face filled with good
will. Yes, she was an oracle, and she was happy for him. He hadn't realized
that he was carrying the memory of last night right there for everyone to see.

"I notice that you didn't tell me to mind my own business," she added.

"Because you already know you should, Dalene. So tell me what's up. Two days
gone and anything could have happened. Do I still have my office?"

"Yeah, but I had to defend it for you. That's two boxes of chocolate you owe
me now."

"Well worth it."

"Good. Godiva, sweetie Ð none of that Hershey's stuff. Now, listen up. You're
due in Hal's office at ten-thirty. He wants to hear every little detail of
what you found on that tornado thing." She put her hand to the side of her
mouth and spoke low. "He seems pretty cranky today, so I hope you've got some
good material. I think somebody upstairs has an interest in your tornado
story."

"Why would that be?"

"Who knows? Everybody in this building is crazy except for me. Anyway, the
only other message for you is that Crystal wants to see you a.s.a.p."

"Let her know that I'm here."

"Will do. I'll tell her that you'll be in your office." Dalene shot him a
strange smile. "Brace yourself."

Glenn ran into Lawrence on his way to the coffee machine. Lawrence was a
summer intern, maybe seventeen or eighteen years old, who was still around for
some reason even though it was September.

"Hey Glenn. Good trip? I watered your plant while you were gone."

"Thanks, Lawrence." He was a good kid. Naive and unseasoned, but a good kid.

Glenn was cheered by the morning sunlight streaming into his office. His space
was small, but it was a private office, while most of the other writers were
in cubicles out in the news room. This small bit of luxury was probably
Daggert's way of acknowledging Glenn's Pulitzer nomination, although it was
never clearly stated. Glenn was smart enough to act as though it was all very
proper and expected. He had a desk (a real wooden desk) with computer, a small
sofa with a narrow coffee table in front of it, and a beautiful ficus plant in
the corner that thrived on the light that streamed in through the row of
windows along the east wall. He checked the ficus plant and saw that Lawrence
had been careful not to overwater it, then looked out of his windows onto the
mid-town Manhattan streets and the small sliver of the East River that he
could see beyond the complex overlapping of towering steel and glass. It was
quite lovely outside, a crisp, clear, late summer morning.

"I'm glad that you made it back in one piece."

He turned and there was Crystal, leaning against the door jamb. Whoa! He
understood now why Dalene had advised that he brace himself. Crystal was
wearing a blue skirt today with a hem line that pushed right to the edge of
the company's dress-code. Her skirt accentuated the roundness of her ass while
matching blue pumps showcased the miracle of her legs. A tight-fitting
button-up blouse the color of heavy cream molded itself to the volume of her
exceptional tits. The material was thin enough to make out the outlines of her
bra, and she had the blouse unbuttoned right to the point of exposing just a
touch of her cleavage. His cock applauded the outfit by leaping to attention
beneath his desk. Heat rose in his face as he worked to remain calm.

"Morning, Crys."

"I'm going to get more coffee before we compare notes," she said. "Do you want
me to get you a refill?"

"Ah, no. I think I'm fine."

He watched as she spun around. Her movements were so dynamic, and for about
the thousandth time he imagined what it would be like to lift up her skirt and
plant a big wet kiss right there between her legs. It was so easy to imagine
that, his mouth grazing the tops of both thighs, the scent of her pussy
telling him of her excitement. Crystal walked out of view but then, as if
having forgotten something, she was back and once again filled his door frame
with her beauty. Her expression was intense and curious, or maybe even
flustered.

"Was there something else?", he asked. Goddamn, look at those tits, he
thought. So big there on her petite frame...

"I, um..."

And her hips... He had seen her in a tiny bikini once, and that whole area of
her body, the hips, the upper thighs, her lower abdomen... They were all so
fucking charged, like they'd been designed to provide the world's most perfect
framing for her pussy...

She shifted her weight suddenly on her heels, almost stumbling while standing
still. Her face went red, like she was embarrassed.

"I, um... It's... it's good to have you back, Glenn." She paused, as though
trying to puzzle something out. Eventually she shook her head, like a cat
whisking away something clinging to its whiskers. "The office gets a bit dull
when you're away on assignment," she added. "Things are more... interesting
when you're around."

She opened her mouth as if she was going to add something more. As he had done
so many times, Glenn took a mental snapshot of Crystal, an image that included
all of her curves and the way that the muscles of the woman's body looked like
coiled springs ready to leap into action. After another moment, she left again
to get her coffee. Lord, give me strength, he thought. Even though he had just
participated in the best night of sex in his entire life, Crystal was such a
fucking temptation. He could flirt with her in the semi-innocent way that they
had established together, but he would have to work extra hard today to keep
his eyes in their sockets and his hands to himself.

Until this bizarre trip to Maine, Crystal Skensgard was easily the sexiest
creature that Glenn had ever laid eyes on, and for months she had been his
personal "MLTF", the woman he'd most like to fuck. It was unbelievable,
really, that in Cassandra Bliss he had found someone who could top Crystal's
looks Ñ he just never thought he'd see a more beautiful woman. Some of Vic
Daggert's girlfriends were phenomenally beautiful Ñ one, Kiko Yagashima, had
especially driven him nuts with her hot body and tremendous breasts Ñ but even
Kiko, or Isabella, for that matter, didn't get to him the way that Crystal
did.

The fact was, Glenn had a crush on Crystal. No, wait Ñ no man pushing thirty
got crushes any more, they simply got the hots. Well, whatever it was, he had
it bad, and it had been there from the first minute of her employment at The
Sourcerer. There was more to it than her being so goddamned gorgeous, although
that was undeniably the major factor. The two of them got along well and had
even developed an oddly close, somewhat playful and flirtatious relationship
at work. He saw her outside of work from time to time also, since she had
urged him to switch health-clubs and work-out at the same gym that she
belonged to. Once or twice he had nearly asked her out to dinner, but,
thankfully, he had been able to stop himself. There were several reasons why
it was best to keep everything strictly professional between them. The
foremost was that he didn't believe he was her type. He had overheard her
once, talking with Dalene about relationships, and Crystal had stated that
most of her past boyfriends were short, stocky Asian men. She had confessed
something else, too, about swearing off relationships for a while. He hadn't
heard enough to know her reasons, but even if Crystal was in the market and
could be attracted to someone like him, there was another reason to steer
clear of her. It was the promise that he had made to himself. It was more like
a vow, really Ñ a vow to never, ever get involved with another woman who
worked at The Sourcerer.

That vow was a result of his nearly disastrous fling with Julia Strich back in
his early days at The Sourcerer. Julia had been a senior editor at the paper
when Glenn came aboard. Their paths crossed every now and then, and he could
not fail to notice her physical charms. She wore glasses and sometimes had a
hard, rather stern look on her face, as though life was a very serious and
dangerous game and one needed to be on-guard at all times; still, it took very
little imagination to picture her without the glasses, her expression softened
by the pleasures of sex. The woman had very good features surrounded by fine
shoulder-length light-brown hair, and Ñ most intriguing to him Ñ a sexy,
wonderfully curvy body, with D-cup tits and shapely legs that looked
absolutely delicious in her wool skirts and form-accentuating heels.

Their affair began as many do, with physical attraction, too much alcohol, and
little thought of the future. They were talking together at the company
Christmas party when it happened. It was after seven p.m. on a Friday and
fairly generous bonuses had just been handed out. Nearly everybody was
half-lit and feeling pretty relaxed. Julia was smiling and laughing and Glenn
thought she looked lovely when she allowed herself to smile, and he told her
so.

"Why thank you, Glenn. I'm not always the hard-edged editor, you know. Is
there anything else that would make me even more attractive for you?"

"Try taking off your glasses."

He didn't know why he said it, but she smiled a little wickedly and removed
the glasses from her pretty face. The transformation was just as he had
imagined.

"I could let my hair down, too, and strip out of this business attire and show
off my playful undergarments. You'd especially like the sexy bra I'm wearing
today. I'd show it to you right now but that might draw a little too much
attention, don't you think?"

He was startled by her words. She was getting him excited, but he thought she
was joking with him, or maybe setting him up for a lecture on sexual
harassment in the workplace. Had he gone too far in complimenting her?

She stepped closer to him and whispered into his ear. "Don't panic, Glenn. In
case you hadn't figured it out, I'm flirting with you."

"That's a relief."

She stepped back and gave him a good top to bottom inspection with her eyes.

"You wouldn't need to change one thing to get me heated up, cowboy. I think
you're a good fit just as you are."

She took a long sip of her drink and licked her lips.

"Tell me Ñ do you get turned on by long, shapely legs in sheer stockings and
garters?"

"What..."

"Because that's what you'd find under this wool skirt, if you had the courage
to explore."

"Ah..."

"And no panties."

"Oh."

"You don't believe me."

"Oh, I believe you."

"No you don't. You don't believe that I'm that adventurous or... open."

"Ah..."

"Whoops!" She dropped the napkin from under her champagne glass. "Be a dear
and snatch that for me, Glenn."

He bent down as directed, well aware of her choice of language. With his head
momentarily in the immediate vicinity of her snatch, he could smell the
distinct aroma of female arousal. A quick glance upwards was all it took to
see that she had not been lying. Her long luscious legs were topped by the
total absence of any undergarment of any kind. He stood again and handed her
the napkin. Her fingers stroked his hand with the exchange.

"I'm feeling very open tonight, Glenn. Wide open."

"I'm coming to see that."

Julia glanced down at his crotch, where he had gotten very hard.

"Ummmn. Why don't we slip away from this festival and rendezvous in my office?
I think it's time that you got a closer look at what I wear Ñ and don't wear Ñ
under these conservative clothes."

"But..."

"Don't think, Glenn. Like the ads say, just do it."

They did it. On her desk and on the carpeted office floor and later at her
apartment all weekend long, they definitely did it. She was a more vocal and
primal lover than he'd ever experienced, and that fuck on her desk Ñ the first
time since college that he had made love to any woman besides his ex-wife Ñ
seemed like a miracle to him.

They began to see each other outside of the workplace, keeping their
relationship a secret from anyone connected with The Sourcerer. As far as
Glenn knew, there was no strict policy on inter-office dating, but it just
seemed like a good idea to keep the whole thing quiet. Somehow Dalene knew
what he was up to Ñ she seemed to see and hear things that couldn't be seen or
heard Ñ but that didn't keep Glenn away from Julia's loft apartment. They went
out to dinner a few times and saw a couple of Broadway shows together, but all
of that was window-dressing. Their union was based on sexual need, and all
they really wanted was to fuck until they didn't need to fuck any more.

Glenn was thrilled with their lovemaking at first. Julia's rack was not as
good as his ex-wife's, but it was good nonetheless, and she seemed to love it
when he kneaded her big breasts while banging away inside of her hungry pussy,
her legs greedily wrapped around his back. It didn't take long, however,
before it became clear that they were ill-suited for each other. Julia did not
like to give head, which was a major disappointment, and although her breasts
could be shaped with her hands to provide enough cleavage for tit-fucking, she
didn't like it. In fact, she had a tidiness thing that included the appearance
of semen anywhere outside of her pussy, which greatly curtailed their options.
Worse, they had little to say to each other when they weren't grunting or
moaning together. In fact, Glenn found Julia quite dull when his cock wasn't
inside of her, and maybe a little frightening as well. Here and there, when
one of their post-coital conversations turned to the workplace, she would
reveal a distressing degree of ambition and ruthlessness. The woman was
aggressively climbing the corporate ladder, and she felt no remorse for
crushing a few skulls as she clawed her way to the next rung.

Glenn knew that he didn't love Julia, but he also came to realize that he
didn't even like her. He was getting what he thought he wanted Ñ hot sex every
other day from a good-looking, tight-bodied woman with full breasts and great
legs Ñ and he learned that Julia was also having her needs met. What she liked
was getting hot sex from a man who was in a position inferior to hers at the
office. Glenn usually enjoyed her demanding and sometimes controlling energy
in the sack, but when she started to assign him to "special projects" at work,
asserting editorial control over his stories and making unreasonable demands
about both content and deadlines, he knew that he had made a terrible error.
At night, in her Tribecca loft, they fucked each other; but there among the
shiny corporate towers of mid-town Manhattan, she was fucking him. The
situation ate at his soul, and he did everything he could to escape her
clutches, manipulating Hal into sending him out of town on extended
assignments. This infuriated Julia, as she had the timing of their sexual
encounters scheduled in her date book, and she did not like to deviate from
the order of her date book.

Glenn thought of dumping her, of course, but she let it be known in
barely-concealed threats that she would work to get him fired unless he gave
her the sex she wanted when she wanted it. He rented "Fatal Attraction" to
gain perspective on his situation, and could easily see Julia going Glenn
Close on him if he ended the relationship or even quit his job.

And then, just when it looked as though there was no way out, the miracle
came, and he was saved. The special assignments that he had written for Julia,
mostly absurd stories of sexual deviation where victimized women triumphed
over their oppressors, resulted in increased readership among a particular
female demographic, earning Julia a promotion Ñ a promotion that required her
to move to The Sourcerer's sister offices in Los Angeles. Apparently, Vic
Daggert himself decided that Julia Strich had just the right combination of
controlling hand and sick mind to whip some of the surf-loving L.A. staff into
shape. Julia broke the news to Glenn in her office and he had to hold onto a
chair to keep himself from jumping for joy. Two weeks later he saw her off at
the Newark airport, and he even gave her a tender good-bye kiss before she
boarded her flight. He remained at the airport and watched her Continental
plane take-off into the late-winter sunset, making certain that she was indeed
aboard the flight and out of his life. He said a little prayer for the L.A.
writing staff, then he tied one on late into the night, playing pool and
downing beers with Joe Lentz, his best friend who used to work at The
Sourcerer. Joe knew the whole story of Glenn's near-death in Chicago and his
scandal-rag resurrection. After explaining the whole saga of Julia, the two
men celebrated the fact that Los Angeles, like Chicago, had become a
geographic dead-zone for Glenn, a place to be avoided at all costs. Glenn
figured that he was ceding free passage in some significant U.S. real-estate
because of the mistakes he had made regarding women, but there was still
plenty of ground where he could breathe freely.

That was when he vowed to never again date a woman who worked at The
Sourcerer, and it had been an easy vow to keep until Crystal Skensgard showed
up. Glenn could clearly remember the morning when Hal introduced her to the
staff. Crystal was a recent Columbia graduate, they were told, and she would
be joining their team. When she stepped forward, no longer hidden from view by
the editor's portly body, Glenn couldn't believe his eyes. He instantly knew
that this was the most gorgeous woman he had ever seen in his life. She was so
gorgeous, in fact, that all of the other reporters in the room looked like
they needed to suck oxygen from a tube to regain their equilibrium. And no
wonder Ñ Crystal Skensgard was so fucking beautiful that her physical presence
seemed to fill the room, touching every wall and every corner.

Glenn's first impression: Sheer, unadulterated sexual vitality. That was the
first thing that hit him, and only after recovering from this initial shock
could he study the details. Incredibly lovely face, Asian-American (which
didn't fit with her last name), long straight hair the color of rich dark
coffee grounds, shocking blue eyes(!), perfect skin, perfect teeth. Lips Ñ
holy shit did the woman have some gorgeous lips. And her body Ñ whoa! She was
very petite, just barely clearing the five foot mark, yet even through the
professional masking of a jacketed wool pants-suit the woman's body screamed
out its phenomenal shapeliness. Just by looking at the way that Crystal's
slacks hugged her thighs and calves, it was apparent that she was either a
gymnast or a serious weight-lifter, and on top of that she appeared to be
equipped with some jaw-dropping breasts!

Glenn felt a swirling tempest of lust rising inside of him that very first
meeting, which only deepened in the succeeding days as Crystal's attire became
more revealing. She wore a knee-length skirt and heels on her third day at the
office, and the sight of her legs in pantyhose nearly caused him to faint. A
gymnast? A dancer? A mountain-biker? A speed-skater? A sprinter? All five? The
woman's legs were amazingly muscular, but in a carefully-targeted,
extraordinarily feminine way. They were graceful curving marvels of structure
and form, with pronounced calf and thigh muscles like a gymnast's legs, but
much, much better than a gymnast's legs. He had never in his life seen ankles
and calves explode out of a pair of heels like that! No one was born with legs
that incredible, but what had she done to get her legs to be like that? Could
she be an aerobics instructor, as Ruth had been?

But Crystal's body was so much more... amplified, or energized, as though she
had been practicing aerobics on a world with far denser gravity. She seemed to
have a sense of theater, too, in the way that she revealed her body's
perfection bit by bit, or perhaps she had learned that showing too much all at
once could only cause trouble in an office full of men. Either way, by the end
of her first week at The Sourcerer, Crystal wore a form-fitting satin blouse
to work and Glenn finally got an idea of just how much "oomph" there was to
her upper body, especially her tits. He estimated their size to be a DD-cup at
least, but on Crystal's compact frame they looked even larger and more
succulent than Ruth's breasts had been. This element of scale Ñ Crystal's
overall smallness offset by the dynamism of all of her individual parts Ñ
upset Glenn's sense of balance somehow. He felt like a fetishist every time he
looked at her, because his eyes were constantly being caught by the wonder of
some individual part of her physique. Her ankles and calves at the bottom, her
eyes and mouth and jaw at the top, and in-between her ass and neck and
especially those proud, magnificent breasts... He found himself especially
hypnotized by the size and roundness of her breasts Ñ they looked so perfect
under those blouses and tight sweaters that he assumed for a time that they
had to have been surgically enhanced. But after studying the way that they
jiggled when she walked down the office hallways, he decided that they were
the real deal. Either way, they were so delicious to look at that he often
fantasized about stripping Crystal out of her blouse and bra and once again
experiencing the joy of having a pair of big, pliable breasts surrounding his
rod.

As the days and weeks went by and every outfit that she wore seemed to present
some new, tantalizing detail of her amazing physique, it was very difficult
for him to be in the same room with her without feeling extremely powerful
animal urges raging in his soul. Even when safely tucked in front of his
computer monitor, Glenn would find his mind wandering away from his projects,
mental pictures of Crystal crowding out all productive thought. He couldn't
help but imagine her decked out in the form-fitting attire of some new super
heroine Ñ of any woman he'd met in his entire life, Crystal was the one you
could imagine in tights and a cape with a big letter stretched across her
boobs. When she visited his office and was standing right in front of him, his
entire body would leap into some kind of sexual warp-drive, his dick pulsing
and his heart racing and the surface of his skin feeling so hot that he
thought it could ignite the air between them, consuming the atmosphere of
dick-hardening pheromones that seemed to surround the woman's body. At times
like these, Glenn would become especially self-conscious of his hands, not
knowing what to do with them when they wanted to reach out to her so badly, to
trace every millimeter of her flesh, to decipher the puzzle of her physical
structure like a blind man trying to understand a new and wonderful object by
the sense of touch alone.

But his obsession with Crystal's body, intense and distracting as it was, did
not prevent him from noticing that she was also one hell of a reporter. One
hell of an everything, really. He had assumed Ñ a big, sexist mistake, he now
saw Ñ that Crystal was hired solely because of her looks. Hal, fat tyrant that
he was, liked to look at the ladies, and there was more to look at on Crys
than you could find in a whole stack of girlie magazines. It turned out,
though, that Crystal had a deep well of talents that went far beyond her
physical appearance. She was a jack of all journalistic trades, and pretty
much the master of all, too. She wrote wonderfully, interviewed insightfully,
and she was able to comb through information on Lexis-Nexis like no one he had
ever met. Even more attractive to the editors of a scandal-rag was her ability
to skillfully manipulate photographs in Photoshop. In fact, Crystal displayed
so much talent that Glenn wondered why she had applied for the position at The
Sourcerer to begin with. Hal occasionally teamed them together on assignments,
and Crystal was always a rock-solid partner (while he, problematically, was
often just rock solid). The only reason that made any sense for Crystal being
at The Sourcerer was that she was using this job as a brief stepping-stone, a
way to get a stint in trash journalism on her resume so that she could land a
gig as an on-screen reporter for one of the info-news magazines. The woman
certainly had the kind of looks that a camera loves.

Crystal was an odd mixture of Chinese and Norwegian genes Ñ she had told him
the details, but he couldn't really remember which parent had been what Ñ
anyway, it sure did add up to something special. Most of her features and her
overall look were Asian, but, like a nearly invisible current running beneath
the waters of a still pond, the Scandinavian influence was there to sharpen
certain angles and soften other ones. Her eyes, of course, were startling Ñ
wide, almond-shaped openings with intensely blue pupils that, at first, did
not seem to go with her Eastern features Ñ but, like the rest of her, the eyes
were simply far more than needed for her to look terrific. She had an adorable
nose that was an ideal blend of East and West, very high cheekbones and the
kind of angled jaw that you saw on all fashion magazine covers these days. Her
mouth was absolutely amazing, with gorgeous full lips as well-shaped as her
body, and teeth so even and white that her smile could be recognized from
blocks away. It was her mouth, he thought, that would land her a job on a
network news program some day. It was a mouth built just as much for kissing
and blowing as for thousand mega-watt smiles. How could you tear your eyes
away from the TV screen if a mouth like that was delivering the latest
findings on nutrition or exercise? Hell, having someone like Crystal Skensgard
as a news anchor could probably make turmoil in the Middle East seem sexy.

And then there was her phenomenal body, which would certainly do nothing to
hurt her chances. To Glenn's eyes, Crystal's body was more like a
well-designed work of art than an accidental mixing of her parent's
chromosomes. Looking at her, it was easy to imagine that some sculptor with
divine talents had crafted her to satisfy his every aesthetic and sexual
preference. It would take an artist with abilities far beyond even a
Michelangelo, but it would also require the most ideal materials, the perfect
stone. There were stories about sculptures like that, where the artist claimed
that all of the form lay trapped within the materials, just waiting for the
right hands to set it free. That's what Crystal looked like Ñ unlimited
potential already there in her genetics, but her body further worked and
refined by the most talented hands imaginable. She was the embodiment of
perfectly idealized feminine grace and pure athletic power all rolled into one
woman. Her small stature Ñ she couldn't even weigh a hundred pounds Ñ
showed-off the particulars of her form the way that an especially small and
rare jewel reveals its beauty. She looked strong everywhere Ñ even her neck
and collarbones looked strong Ñ and yet everything came together with such
incredible elegance. Everywhere that you'd want to see some part of her body
curve out, it did so with breathtaking emphasis, and the same held true with
every indentation, every perfect angle. Her arms and shoulders were both
finely shaped and well-muscled, her waist narrow and tight, and she had,
without a doubt, the best ass in the history of the world, a superbly rounded
bubble-butt that brought award-winning animation to skirts and pants alike.

And then came the legs. They got to him every day, whether she wore a skirt or
not. As he had noted from day one, her legs were so dynamic that even a pair
of pleated wool pants did little to hide their devastating contours. Oh, to
lie between those incredible legs... They weren't long, of course, but even so
they were fantasy legs, with narrow but strong ankles rapidly flaring out into
the roundest calves Glenn had ever seen, knees with just the right degree of
angular structure and definition, and then thighs so boldly toned that they
looked as though they could crush steel. And then, topping off the richness of
her body like two giant cherries on top of a super-deluxe chocolate sundae,
Crystal's very large and prominent breasts added yet another layer of sexiness
to her fulfillment of fantastically fit feminine fuckability. A woman with
such an awe-inspiring physique did not need to have deluxe, succulent orbs to
be one of the world's most desirable babes Ñ but there they were anyway,
completely impossible to ignore, so bouncy and lively that they looked as
though she drank gallons of special boob-enhancing milk every day.

In fact, every part of Crystal's body looked like that Ñ so healthy and vital
that he could imagine the warm nectar of her pussy being filled with
life-giving nutrients, and he could not keep from imagining himself lapping up
her healthful secretions as they made love on the top of his desk. The pull of
her sexuality was so strong that Glenn often found himself staring at her,
mouth agape, enraptured by Crystal's big firm tits pushing at whatever blouse
she was wearing, or mesmerized by her phenomenal legs, or hypnotized by the
sway of her perfectly rounded ass as it turned the rear of a pair of slacks
into an object of devotion. Of all of the women he had met since his divorce,
this was the one that he wanted to make love to with all of his heart and
soul.

But he couldn't do that, he had to remind himself. It was dangerous to even
think about it. And so he gritted his teeth and tried to ignore the urgent
thickening of his cock and he suffered her presence, in a way, his hardened
Yang desperately wishing to join with her hot as hell Yin even though she did
work at the paper. He worked hard to keep these impulses in check, dutifully
going out on his lackluster blind dates, hoping beyond hope that some day he
would meet a girl who got his hormones screaming half as much as Crystal did.

Part of the secret to Crystal's physique was answered when she had been with
The Sourcerer for about a month. He overheard her discussing health-clubs with
one of the secretaries, giving advice on stretching exercises. Glenn grabbed a
cup of coffee and casually joined the conversation, where he learned the
reason that he couldn't fathom the particular type of physical training that
had helped to produce such a thrilling body. The woman had done everything.
Ballet and some serious gymnastics training since the age of four, skating,
soccer, track, basketball, swimming, cycling, roller-blading, weight-training,
Tai Chi, yoga, Tae Kwon Do, and even wrestling Ñ they were all there in her
background, and she kept up with many of them every chance she got.

"You work out, don't you Glenn?", she asked him.

He admitted that he did, but he knew that his routines were probably like
simple warm-up exercises to a woman like Crystal. He used the Nautilus
equipment and the stationary bikes at his gym, and played racquetball or
pick-up playground basketball every now and then.

"Does your gym have a basketball court?"

"No," he admitted. "We play outdoors."

"Which means that you don't get to play much in the winter, right? I've been
telling Irene about the health club I found. It's only three blocks from work
and they have everything, including a basketball court, and even a pool for
swimming laps. It sounds terribly expensive, right? But I can get you a
discount where I'll bet it's no more than what you're paying now. You should
come with me and take a look. I go over there almost every day after work."

He took her up on the offer that same evening, and it worked out just the way
that he had hoped. The health club was great, but not as great as seeing
Crystal dressed in a tight sports-bra top and neon pink leggings. The woman's
body was just phenomenal. She was extremely muscular, but not in the
vein-popping, hard-edged way of most competitive body builders. Her muscles
were intensely defined, but they remained rounded somehow, as opposed to the
angular, overly-chiseled physiques that he sometimes saw on fitness magazine
covers. As curvy as a high-mountain highway, Crystal was as fit as any woman
he had ever seen, but her muscles didn't bulge as much as they seemed to
cleave through the air surrounding her. She performed a series of stretching
exercises on a floor mat, where she displayed amazing flexibility, before
moving onto the weight machines for a variety of reps for her arms, shoulders
and legs. He tried not to stare too obviously, but it was impossible to
conceal his fascination. Crystal ate up the exercise equipment like Hercules
on amphetamines, and it all looked so effortless for her, so fluid. Even when
she pushed herself to her limits, the cords on her neck straining and sweat
beading on her forehead, there was an overall relaxed quality to her body that
was remarkable. Glenn went through his more modest routines and found that
staring at Crystal helped to give his cock an excellent work-out, as it felt
considerably harder and more pumped-up than it had ever been.

He switched health-clubs that very evening. It was more convenient than the
last one, and maybe he really would get in some extra basketball during the
winters, but his true motivations were "crystal" clear. By his own rules he
was not allowed to date Crys, but no one was going to keep him from admiring
her assets.

And, he later found out, she was not at all shy about showing off those
assets. One particular evening when he was riding the exercise bikes after
work, Crystal leaned her head into the room and beckoned to him. He joined her
out in the hallway and nearly fell to his knees. She stood in front of him,
her long hair still wet, with little rivulets of pool water streaming down
much of her body. She dabbed at the water on her chest and shoulders with a
white towel as asked him a work-related question, dressed in nothing but her
swim suit. Eschewing one of the black one-piece suits that most of the women
seemed to favor at the health club, Crystal had chosen a microscopic thing
composed of two tiny strips of bright yellow material that left extremely
little to the imagination.

Glenn's imagination had been in overdrive for months at that point, with
mental pictures of Crystal's naked body constantly forming in his brain Ñ what
blew him away was how much better she actually was than anything he could have
imagined! He had expected her to be terrifically toned and fit, but the
contours of her body took fitness and body shaping into a different realm. Her
muscles looked every bit as powerful as a Ms. Universe contestant, yet
everything flowed together in a seamless manner that he couldn't quite get his
brain to grasp. How could a human being be so muscular and so fucking feminine
and curvy at the same time? Crystal's tanned flesh was unbelievably smooth,
almost velvety, her form like a Greek sculpture as interpreted by Brancusi,
all gliding sensuous curves on the surface with hard muscle rippling
underneath. Her breasts were two grandly swelling orbs of sinfully delectable
flesh flowing out into the space in front of her, and her nipples, hardened by
the cold water, seemed to be doing stretching exercises of their own under the
thin veil of wet yellow cloth. Glenn stared at the tantalizing geometry there
on her chest Ñ the curved "Y" shape where her breasts met, and the tiny yellow
triangles of wet material that barely covered the center of her big circular
boobs. Below these round wonders her stomach was so unbelievably tight and
toned that light shimmered on its contours as if it were spotlighted, even
though the lighting in the hallway was nothing but the flat glow of overhead
flourescents. His eyes slid lower to take in her tiny bikini bottom, and then
he got his first look at her bare upper-thighs, and the overall region of her
pussy.

Something... happened, when his eyes took in the particulars of this
previously concealed area of Crystal's body. It was as if time slowed down or
even stood still for a moment, and in that stretched-out period of time he
felt as though her anatomy was speaking to him, calling to him. It was a
ridiculous thought, but he kept staring, and listening... He had never seen
the bare flesh of her upper thighs before, nor her lower abdomen and hip bones
uncovered like this. It was all so... spectacular! He was taken aback, stunned
really. What was it about her that was getting to him like this? It was just
the skin of a woman's thighs, he reminded himself. But he felt like those
thighs were calling his name, inviting him to caress them, to love and even
worship them... And the flesh there at that tiny yellow triangle of cloth,
that thin piece of material in contact with Crystal's pussy... He studied her
navel, and the way that her tight abdomen curved outward into those
intoxicating hips, and the hip-bones, defined just-so, leading down to her
unfathomably delicious upper thighs...

Water streamed down the insides of her thighs in slow -motion, seemingly from
the small area concealed by the yellow of her bikini bottom. He stared at the
exposed flesh just millimeters away from Crystal's pussy, trembling,
wondering... Could the woman's vagina possibly be as perfect as the rest of
her anatomy? When every visible detail of Crystal's body screamed out its
strong and vital perfection, was there any reason to doubt that her
love-tunnel would be similarly vibrant? His eyes remained locked onto the
yellow triangle of cloth that concealed this pleasure kingdom, and he couldn't
get over the feeling that her pussy was calling to him, whispering his name...

He knew he was staring, for a long time, right at her crotch, and he tried to
stop himself, but he just couldn't. He was overwhelmed, awed. No woman he had
ever seen looked this good when wearing this little. She shifted her weight
just slightly, and the movement of her muscles beneath the perfect skin caused
his heart to dance. The sight of Crystal's body in this tiny bikini made him
wonder why magazines always got thin, stretched-out women to model swim suits.
Crystal embodied an entirely different ideal, and the hardness of his dick
voted enthusiastically for this more condensed form. Everything he could ever
want and much more than he could ever hope for was right there, all in one
extremely compact package. Everything Ñ all of the wonders of her body, from
the big round tits to her rock solid waist to those super-fit thighs and
calves Ñ would be within easy reach at all times when making love to her.
Every single ounce of the woman looked as though it had been specifically
designed for marathon bouts of high-energy sexual gymnastics, and in Crystal's
easy, proud posture he could see that she was fully aware of this fact.

She talked with Glenn for a minute or two, her voice open and friendly even
though he was behaving badly with his gaping, open-mouthed stares. She must
have been aware of the degree of lust she stirred in him, but her voice
betrayed no hint of rebuke or offense. He couldn't remember now whether he had
ever answered her question, because he hadn't been able to concentrate on
anything but the marvel of her body. He remembered quite vividly, though, that
when their little conversation was finished he grabbed his gym bag, quickly
dressed and caught a cab home, where he masturbated with the picture of
Crystal's water-speckled body firmly in his mind. What else could he do? He
had never been so attracted to a woman in his life, and there she had been,
nearly naked and close enough to him that he could smell the chlorine in her
hair. She had casually rubbed at her big tits with her towel, shifting her
weight from one divine leg to the other as they talked, the voltage of her
sexuality calling out to him. He imagined slipping that tiny triangle of cloth
down her thighs, exposing her whispering pussy... Holy shit! It nearly gave
him a fever to think about getting it on with that woman, yet there was
nowhere (except his right hand) for the feelings to go. He wasn't going to
sleep with her Ñ he couldn't sleep with her Ñ but the fact was that Crystal
Skensgard made him hornier than a whole pond full of toads.

CHAPTER 2 Crystal withstood a tedious conversation with Martin Whitehead,
another of the reporters, while getting her coffee. Predictably, nearly all of
The Sourcerer's reporters were male. Equally predictable was the way that
every one of them, even the two guys in their sixties, had the hots for her.
Martin, in particular, had been trying to make moves on her for the past two
months. She used to smile and make small talk with him, but he had
misinterpreted her patience as possible interest, and now he was becoming a
royal pain. There was zero chance that she could ever find such a man
attractive Ñ he was bald, egotistical and a horrible writer, and the worst
thing was that the guy was already married! But she made him horny Ñ just
wearing a short skirt like she was today was the equivalent of feeding every
man in the news room a megadose of Viagra.

The other thing that Martin might be tuned-in to was that she was feeling
extremely sexy this morning, as in really, really sexed-up. Crystal tuned him
out and tried to figure out why she was feeling so revved that she could tell
her panties were getting moist. It wasn't Martin, certainly. It had started
when she was standing in Glenn's doorway. Glenn? She felt her nipples harden
as she pictured him sitting at his desk. Yes, definitely Glenn. But why? She
had been flirting with him for the past six months, but not with the idea that
it would actually go somewhere. Today, though, her pussy seemed to throb every
time that she thought about him. And when he'd checked her out as she stood in
his doorway... Wow! He'd looked at her with that half-hidden x-ray gaze back
in his office, the one where she felt as though her clothing was no obstacle
for his visual dissection of her anatomy, and her pussy had become so
stimulated that he might as well have his head between her legs! That kind of
look was annoying as hell coming from someone like Martin Whitehead, but she
liked it whenever she saw Glenn's eyes becoming enslaved by her beauty. Hell,
she might as well admit to herself that she had worn this particular skirt and
blouse because she knew that Glenn would be back after two days of being away.

She had felt the anticipation all morning, and she made a point of unbuttoning
her blouse one button more than was necessary, just to give him a tantalizing
peek at the tops of her boobs. He definitely noticed, and she had received an
immediate buzz deep within her vagina as he checked out her tits and legs. He
was more clever than most guys, drinking in her looks with furtive little sips
rather than the big-gulp stares that she usually got; still, she could see
that Glenn was smitten, no matter how polite he remained.

After years of being gawked at, her lust-radar was attuned enough that she
usually knew exactly what it was about her that a man found most appealing. It
was difficult to say what her best feature was Ñ everything about her body,
even in the regions that very few were lucky enough to ever see, were so
perfect that even she, herself, could not really fathom it Ñ but most guys
focused on what they could see the easiest and fell into three predictable
camps: those who went for her dazzling blue eyes and incredible mouth, those
who drooled over her big double-D tits, or the ones who fixated on her legs,
particularly her calves. Glenn's interest was global, meaning that he seemed
to have one eyeball stuck in every camp, tending to fixate on whatever was
best presented to him on any given day. He was an equal-opportunity ogler,
obviously captivated by her tits but also locking-in on her legs like one of
the lower extremity types whenever she wore a skirt to work. She knew that he
loved it when she was dressed in a short skirt, but even when she wore tight
slacks and her back was turned to him, she could feel him staring at her ass,
studying her sexy cheeks like a cartographer analyzing the curvature of two
identical hills. It was nothing unusual Ñ having guys gawk at her non-stop on
the street or on the subway was as regular as the sunrise Ñ but with Glenn
there was something that made the experience... special. It was a pleasant
warm buzz that stirred the depths of her vagina, a purring thrill that warmed
her pussy right now as she thought about how much fun it was tease him with
revealing glimpses of the wonders of her awesome body.

She suspected that at least half of the male employees at the paper had images
of her floating in their minds when they fucked their wives or girlfriends.
Even after six months of being on the staff, she could see that the reporters
and editors could not get over her stunning face or amazing physique. Well,
that was not surprising, considering how insanely gorgeous she was. But what
about Glenn? Did he secretly dream of running his hands and cock all over her
hot body? Maybe he even masturbated with thoughts of her big tits pressed to
his lips, her powerful legs wrapped around his torso. She'd bet a million
bucks he did, because she encouraged it every chance she got.

So many times in the past six months she had found herself flirting with
Glenn, and sometimes rather shamelessly. It had been that way from nearly the
beginning Ñ she worked very hard to talk him into joining her health club,
knowing full well that he would park his eyes on her body when she worked out.
Two weeks or more could go by without their gym schedules coinciding, but
whenever she saw that he was present, a special buzz of pleasure would pass
through her body, and she often put on a little show for him by pumping those
extra dozen reps, or running those few additional miles on the treadmill. She
knew the type, the guys whose plumbing nearly short-circuited from watching
her fluid muscles in action. Glenn liked to look at her body as she stretched
or worked-out, but what he probably didn't realize was how much pleasure she
got from looking at him, too. Glenn was blessed with what she had come to
think of as a natural cowboy grace. He was solid and in pretty good shape, and
she loved his smile, especially when he smiled deeply and that single dimple
formed beneath his left cheek. There was something about this tiny lack of
facial symmetry that penetrated straight into her heart, much like seeing an
adorable dog with a slight limp. He was cute without being vane or cursed with
a stupid machismo attitude, the kind of guy that you wanted to joke around
with just to hear him laugh.

If anyone, it was she who suffered from an overabundance of vanity. It was a
character flaw that she had struggled with ever since she had become so
incredibly stunning. It was wrong to be vain, but facts were facts. Ever since
the age of sixteen or so, there had never been one instance when Crystal was
not the sexiest creature in a room. Even Kiko Yagashima, Vic Daggert's
personal assistant who happened to be an internet legend, was not as beautiful
as Crystal, not in the overall sense. Kiko was stunning and had some of the
most amazing tits that had ever been, but Crystal's had to concede that her
own beauty could not be topped, even by the likes of Kiko. No, Crystal had the
most and the best, no matter who else was around. She was an extremely sexual
woman with curves so profound that even she got hot from the sight of her own
body. She was vigilant, determined to prevent her phenomenal beauty from going
to her head, but facts were facts. One of her previous boyfriends had
described her this way: If other hot chicks were dynamite, then she was a
fucking nuclear bomb, and he'd been right. She wasn't stuck-up about it,
didn't try to make others feel inadequate about their looks or their
physiques, but was she supposed to pretend that she didn't know?

Crystal's looks had been an evolutionary affair that turned out exceedingly
well in the end. In fact, it might have been her early insecurities that made
it so pleasurable when she turned out to be super-gorgeous. She was the
product of an unusual union, both genetically and culturally. Her father was
from Oslo, Norway, a tall and robust environmental engineer who was sent to
China to oversee the construction of several dams in the early 1980's. Her
mother, a petite, well-educated young woman born in Beijing, served as his
translator, and they fell in love. Her father managed to smuggle his
sweet-heart out of China and they were married in Oslo, where Crystal was
born. She spent the first six years of her life in Norway, and they weren't
always the most pleasant of years. She enjoyed the physical activities that
her parents exposed her to Ñ Western ballet, gymnastics, cross-country skiing
and ice-skating Ñ but she never really made peace with the long, dark winters
and she hated being teased by all of the tall, blond children at school. As
ridiculous as it seemed now, Crystal considered herself as rather ugly back
then because her hair and skin were the wrong color and she was small and
densely-built, while most of the other children were tall and pale and lean.
Even when many of the school boys developed crushes on her, she didn't really
get it. Then, shortly before her seventh birthday, her father was assigned to
a post at the United Nations in New York, and her life changed in many ways.

Crystal loved New York. The weather was less harsh, which was a relief, but
more importantly she was enrolled in a private school with a well-diversified
student population. There were children from all over the world there, many of
whom were genetic mutts like herself. A few Asian kids even had features
similar to her own (minus the blue eyes, of course). The compliments she
received about her looks began to sink in, and she realized, with some
delight, that she was extremely pretty.

She also realized, as did everyone else, that she was unusually Ñ maybe
phenomenally Ñ gifted at all forms of athletics. Her parents kept her enrolled
in a program of very intense gymnastics training, and she was able to do
incredible things in all of the events. The parallel bars were her favorite Ñ
she could fly on those things like no one her coaches had ever seen, and she
got a special thrill out of the feeling of weightlessness that she sometimes
achieved on especially dynamic aerial twists. She might have become an Olympic
competitor if she had kept her focus in the right way, but there were so many
forms of athletics in the world and she wanted to try them all. She was
something of a tom-boy back then Ñ she spent nearly all of her non-gymnastics
free hours playing baseball and football with the boys, and could easily keep
up with even the older and bigger players. She set school records in
track-and-field activities, and she won every swimming competition that she
competed in. Her physical talents began to set her apart from some of her
girlfriends, who called her "the muscle freak" and made other jokes about her
short, powerful body. She ended up getting into a fight with one of her
tormentors, and when the girl's older brother stepped in to save his sister,
Crystal beat him up, too, shattering two of the older boy's ribs with one
well-aimed punch.

She got into lots of trouble for that one, but the episode was revealing to
her and made an impression. The boy she had vanquished was easily twice her
size, yet she won the fight quite handily. Curious about her limits, she found
less confrontational ways to test her strength, discovering that maybe she
really was a freak, because she was almost freakishly powerful. She asked her
parents about it, and each one had a completely different answer to explain
the unusual vitality that came so naturally to her.

Her father told her that the Norwegians had always been a sturdy race,
explorers and conquerors with the strength of the icy Arctic winds
invigorating their bodies. To him, then, it all had to do with the blood of
the old Norse gods coursing through her veins. Her mother thought this
explanation rubbish. She spoke of Crystal's "Chi", or life force, and said
that some people got far more than the usual share on very rare occasions. She
insisted that Crystal must learn to channel her energy properly, and she
taught her daughter Tai Chi and several approaches to meditation for this
purpose.

Crystal studied her mother's relaxation techniques, but she also sought out
acceptable outlets for her natural talents. She briefly studied Tae Kwon Do
and Karate, but chaffed under the slow and steady methods of mastering the
techniques of martial arts. She wanted action, fast, and found the most
satisfaction when she joined the girl's wrestling team in the eighth grade.
The sport was raw and basic in a way, with quick bursts of intense activity
that got her blood pumping the way she liked. Her coach, a state champion in
her youth, schooled all of the girls in the techniques of the sport, and then
cut them loose and allowed them to succeed or fail in the heat of battle.

Crystal easily defeated all of the girls in her weight class, never losing a
match. When her teacher took a special interest and gave her permission to
compete against older and much bigger girls, she quickly dispatched with them,
too. She remembered the moment in each bout where one of the bigger girls
would suddenly realize what they were up against. They were always too
confident, certain that their greater weight and reach would supply the
leverage needed to overpower this short, pretty young thing. Crystal would toy
with them for a while, moving defensively, getting the feel of their moves.
Sometimes she even took a quick fall, just to extend a match. It was much like
a cat not wanting to kill the mouse too quickly Ñ if she went full out from
the beginning, her pleasure would have been cut-off before she had barely
started. But when she'd had her fill of fun, she would attack, her hands
grasping her opponents' bodies like steel clamps, her legs wrapping around
them with unbreakable force.

She made certain that she could witness the instant that each opponent's cocky
expression turned to one of confusion and then outright fear when she fully
applied herself to the struggle. Nobody was ever ready for her lightning
reflexes or the force that she could bring to bear with her arms or legs. Once
that moment of realization showed in her opponent's eyes, the match would be
concluded in a matter of seconds. Crystal's coach would smile oddly and shake
her head, and the bigger girl would cautiously slink away, making certain that
nothing was said or done to make the "little" human dynamo angry. It was a
cheap thrill, she supposed, turning female hulks into shaking jello, but it
was a thrill that was accompanied by a secret sexual stirring in her loins.
She didn't fully understand it and she never told anyone about it, but her
victories brought her an intense pulsing deep within her vagina, a thrilling
excitement that she alleviated with her fingers as soon as possible.

These masturbation sessions Ñ her first sexual experiences Ñ were something of
a mystery to her. Why did she get so hot when defeating a girl in battle? She
wasn't attracted to girls, she knew, so it wasn't that. It had something to do
with the feelings within her own body, the experience of calling up and
finding an almost boundless well of energy coursing through her limbs and
torso. She felt unstoppable as she overwhelmed her opponents, a young girl in
touch with powerful forces that she somehow channeled through movement. She
followed this thrill all the way to a regional championship in which she was
well on her way to placing first. In her final match, the girl she was
wrestling Ñ much larger than herself yet clearly outmatched Ñ poked Crystal in
the eyes and nearly overwhelmed her while her vision was blurred. Crystal
became angry Ñ angry at the girl for cheating, and angry that the ref failed
to notice the illegal move. Shaking the tears out of her eyes, she went at the
bigger girl in an uncontrolled fury. Even now she could remember the sound of
the other girl's right femur breaking. It was a wrenching, painful sound,
followed by the other girl's wail of pain.

The injury was ugly enough that Crystal was disqualified for unsportsmanlike
conduct. She stopped wrestling after that. She'd had enough of it. Partly, it
was frustration at always having to hold something back to keep from hurting
her opponents. But there was a deeper question that ate at her, a secret thing
that had happened in her disqualifying match. She had been hit by her first
full-fledged orgasm at the moment that she felt and heard her opponent's leg
shatter, and she felt extremely guilty about it. Was she a monster, to feel a
surge of sexual energy like that when another was in pain? Was she a sadist?
But she knew it wasn't the violence itself that thrilled her, and definitely
not the screams of pain from the other girl. It was the feeling of power. She
felt so... filled, so explosively potent, even though she couldn't understand
why or how it was so. Whatever it all meant, she stopped wrestling. Unless she
could compete with boys Ñ which wasn't allowed Ñ the outcome was always known
to her long before each match. There had to be a way to use her physical gifts
that felt right to her, and she continued to search.

She took up gymnastics again and threw herself into soccer, baseball,
basketball and volleyball. In the tenth grade she focused on track for a while
and set a state record in hurdles. She was phenomenal at everything, and
trophies of every kind began to crowd the top of her dresser. She easily set
school records in every sport that she touched upon, and in every case that
she participated in a team sport she was always voted the team's MVP. Every
day was filled with physical activities, plus she kept her grade point average
at a nearly perfect 3.85. She started to become popular. There was a lot of
envy Ñ about her looks, about her titles and trophies and medals Ñ but on the
whole she inspired more admiration than jealousy, and she had a good group of
girlfriends and admirers to spend time with. Still, something was missing from
her life.

All of this was during the time that her body changed. Throughout her
childhood she had thought of herself as a bit too solid. There were probably
very few ounces of fat on her body; still, the lovely, feminine contours of
her face were not ideally echoed in the muscular, somewhat fire-pluggish shape
of her body. Then, around the age of thirteen or fourteen, everything began to
change. Her ears registered the difference in her body before she noticed the
changes in her mirror Ñ car horns and whistles, everywhere, on every street
and avenue, every time she wore shorts or a skirt or a tight top. Studying her
reflection as she passed by store windows, she could see what was drawing so
much attention. Her legs were amazing Ñ they had been marvels of muscular
perfection for a good long while, but now she registered that her waist had
narrowed considerably, and her hips and rear were flaring out in a truly
wonderful way. Shortly after, her breasts grew and kept growing until well
into high school, long after those of all of her girlfriends had stopped. She
had known for several years that her face was gorgeous, but even that changed,
becoming more angular, more interesting.

By the age of sixteen there was no denying it Ñ all visible traces of her
tomboy past were long gone, and Crystal had become one supremely sexy piece of
ass. She would look at herself in her bedroom mirror for hours at a time back
then, comparing her features to those found in fashion and beauty magazines.
Was she crazy, or was she better-looking than any of those models? Her
brilliant blue eyes and her perfect smile were now framed by cheeks and a jaw
more striking than anything she saw on movie stars or super models. Her skin
was satin smooth, her complexion flawless. Even the color of her skin, which
could be described as a glowing version of an Asian complexion, gave her a
radiant quality. She looked like a poster-girl for good health, especially
with the way that the strong muscles of her body molded themselves into such
spectacular feminine configurations.

Comparing the particulars of her body with models from fitness magazines and
even her father's issues of Playboy, she became confused for a time. Why did
her body seem to be so much more dynamically shaped than anything she found?
Her legs were unbelievably sculpted, her ass explosively round, and she was
especially intrigued with the large, perfectly formed breasts now thrusting
out so prodigiously from her chest. They were so big, so magnificent, two firm
mountains of sensitive flesh filling out her blouses where there had been not
much at all not too long before. In high school there was only one girl with
bigger breasts Ñ Cindy Karne Ñ but Cindy was fifteen pounds overweight and
somewhat plain, plus her boobs had none of the exquisite beauty of Crystal's.
Her close girlfriends confessed that they would die to have breasts like hers,
and no wonder! She wore a 32DD bra by the end of the 10th grade, and on her
petite frame her breasts looked absolutely massive! And beyond their imposing
size, they were breasts put together just the way that every woman in America
would wish to have them, their creamy surfaces completely free of moles or
blemishes of any kind, her nipples so full and proud that she looked like she
was sending out sex signals whether she was turned on or not.

It was at this point that Crystal began to see herself as some kind of
pure-bred horse living in a world full of donkeys, the beginnings of her
battle with vanity. She knew it wasn't right to feel so superior in her looks;
still, why was everything about her body so much better than anything she saw
among her friends or in magazines? Why could she run faster, why were her
reflexes so much quicker, why could she hit a baseball a full ten or twenty
meters farther than any of the other girls on her school's baseball team, even
though she was smaller than most of the other athletes? The only possible flaw
she could find in her body had to do with her height, but being short hardly
seemed to matter in sports or when it came to getting guys hot. Sure there
were women with longer legs, but none that had legs as exquisitely shaped as
hers. And there were women with larger boobs, too, but they were few and far
between and she couldn't find any with breasts as graceful as her own, with
aureoles so perfectly formed and finely edged that they nearly looked
airbrushed onto the surrounding flesh. She tried to find some physical flaw in
the mirror, some part of her structure, her features, her skin, her hair Ñ
anything, anything in the world that would be better if it was different in
some way Ñ and she came up with nothing. Nothing to change, nothing to improve
upon. It didn't seem like it should be possible, but even when trying to be
harsh, or critical, everything about her looks seemed to be... transcendent!

Feeling somewhat overwhelmed by the degree and quality of transformation that
her body was exhibiting, she tried out several "looks", styling her hair in
different ways and evaluating herself in various outfits. She saw that she
could make something as simple as a pair of jeans and a pullover shirt look
extremely X-rated, just by going braless. In fact, if she wore low-rider jeans
or a short skirt with a tight blouse, she looked hot enough to melt asphalt
whether she wore a bra or not.

Could it be true? Was she crazy, or was she really the most drop-dead gorgeous
thing that she'd ever seen? From the reactions she got everywhere she went, it
seemed to be true. There came a time Ñ she could almost pin it to a particular
day Ñ when men and boys began to lose control in her presence, drooling over
her with their eyes roaming hungrily over every bit of flesh that she showed.
Boys who had teased her about being too short or too athletic just a grade or
two before now stared at her transfixed and with young, out-of-control boners
pushing at the crotches of their pants. They followed behind her on the New
York sidewalk like packs of love-struck dogs, their eyes glued to her ass and
her legs and her boobs until they were nearly run over in the streets because
they forgot to check for changing lights or oncoming traffic.

Rightly or wrongly, Crystal had to agree with this assessment of her
attributes. Even though she knew what to expect, she was so damned sexy that
she sometimes took her own breath away! She knew the old Greek story of
Narcissus, but she just couldn't help it. She loved it when she caught sight
of her reflection in mirrors or the big glass panes of storefronts, and more
than once she went shopping for clothes just for the opportunity to see
herself in those mirrors that give you several different views of yourself all
at once. She never told anyone this secret, but just looking at all of those
gorgeous Crystals in the mirrors got her nipples so hard and her pussy so
fired up that she would have to run home to masturbate in her bedroom. She
wasn't even sure why she got so turned on, but looking at how gorgeous she had
become gave her a thrill much like she had experienced in wrestling matches.
She worried that she wasn't normal Ñ what kind of girl would masturbate over
mental images of her own super-hot body? Ñ but over time she came to the
conclusion that her lust was fueled less by the specifics of her looks than by
the feeling that the potential of her physical beauty, much like her physical
vitality, was nearly limitless.

And with every passing month, it got worse (or better, depending on how one
looked at it). Men went absolutely crazy over her. She would swear that every
cock in her school classes went instantly erect when she walked through the
door, and sometimes there were even audible sighs or moans that followed her
passage down the school hallways. The boys in school behaved like love-struck
asses in front of her, and the fathers of her girlfriends began to go all
loopy when she did sleepovers, fumbling their sentences and going pale every
time she entered a room. And always, everywhere, that open-mouthed staring!
She seemed to affect men like catnip did cats, the sight of her bright blue
eyes and super-charged body automatically overloading men's nervous-systems
and turning them into sex-starved beasts.

After causing a series of fairly serious auto accidents while walking down
Second Avenue in short-shorts and a tube top one day, she began to wonder
whether she had become so sexy that it was dangerous. A couple of days later,
this suspicion was confirmed when an older man lost control and tried to rape
her. Crystal was researching a paper on Navajo history and culture, and Mr.
Hollingsworth, the uncle of one of her school friends, invited her to his home
to show her his collection of antique Native American rugs. Mr. Hollingsworth
was a highly respected art historian who served on the board of the
Metropolitan Museum. He was more than three times Crystal's age; nonetheless,
it turned out that he had developed some kind of fantasy of fucking her on his
largest and most prized rug. Crystal knew what rape was and she knew that it
was not going to happen to her. It took every ounce of control that she could
summon to let Mr. Hollingsworth off with nothing more serious than aching
balls and a broken wrist.

The very next day, after witnessing a guy on a bicycle smash into the back of
a bus because of the way that he was checking her out, she decided to work at
downplaying her looks as best she could. Sometimes she donned oversized
sunglasses or eyeglasses with no lenses Ñ her Supergirl disguise, a girlfriend
joked Ñ and she introduced loose or baggy pants and blouses into her wardrobe.
When even these steps failed to keep men from doing crazy things around her,
she went so far as to wear ankle-length raincoats when she knew she would be
spending a fair amount of time out on the streets. When roller-blading in
tight clothing, she hid some of her curves under knee pads and elbow pads and
even a padded vest, even though there was zero chance that she would fall.
These measures couldn't always protect the public Ñ she could only tone
herself down so much in the heat of the New York summers, for instance. There
were also days where her vanity got the better of her, and she threw caution
to the wind, deliberately dressing in ways where she was guaranteed to
literally stop traffic. Still, at least part of the time, she was trying to
offer some measure of safety to the population of the city.

And Crystal's parents were certainly not blind to their daughter's physical
transformation. After asking for her daughter's permission, her mother
contacted several modeling agencies on Crystal's behalf, and just like that
the young beauty's youthful image was appearing in everything from cosmetic
ads to brassiere catalogs to fitness equipment videos. She was far too petite
and shapely to become a traditional fashion or runway model Ñ her height
topped out an even five feet, and her measurements were a stunning
32DD-21-331/2. The numbers were stimulating enough, but they couldn't even
communicate how great it all looked on her. She became highly sought-after in
certain specialty niches, everywhere that full breasts, multi-cultural
features and a sensational physique was a plus. Her mother acted as her
manager and was adamant that her daughter not be burdened with excessive
exposure or even stardom; therefore, there were very few photos where
Crystal's entire likeness appeared. She became a parts model. There were
numerous women who modeled only some particular feature of their face or body,
but in Crystal's case, she had agencies calling to photograph her eyes, her
nose, her lips, her hair, her neck, her tits, waist, hands, legs, feet Ñ they
wanted to photograph every damned piece of her! It was always fun to see some
part of herself Ñ her breasts showing off a full-figure bra, for instance, or
her neck and a flexed arm in a health club ad Ñ gracing the side of a bus stop
or the overhead panels on the subway. The photos of her always looked too good
to be real Ñ she figured that a lot of people thought they were airbrushed or
even computer generated Ñ and only a few close girlfriends ever knew that they
were looking at parts of Crystal's body nearly every day. The modeling work
was time consuming, but she saved up a considerable nest egg, enough to pay
her own way at any college.

By her senior year in high school, however, there were so many recruiters
offering her athletic scholarships to various universities that it didn't look
like she would need to pay any tuition anyway. She was voted "Most Likely to
Succeed" and "Most Athletic" in her high school class, and in a special
write-in category she was also voted "Most Likely to be Downloaded". She'd had
countless male admirers after her all the time ever since filling out, and
after hanging out on the sidelines for what felt like forever, she decided to
dive in and take that all-important step near the end of her junior year. The
lucky guy was an extremely cute half-Taiwanese student named Bruce, and she
lost her virginity with him three weeks before her seventeenth birthday.

And what a revelation that was! The appearance of sex in one's life was
supposed to be an important mile-stone, but for Crystal it was also another,
better way to release some of the energy that was always dancing around inside
of her body. Fish gotta swim, birds gotta fly, and Crystal Skensgard had to
move Ñ and what better way was there to move than during sex? Bruce was not a
virgin, yet he was awed by her body and more or less worshipped her physique
during their first few encounters. Crystal, in turn, must have appeared to be
the most appreciative lover in the world. She loved sex from the first second,
and she went at it with the same energy that she brought to everything else.

She learned a great deal from her first lover. He guided her through all of
the essentials that he knew, taking special care to coach her through her
first blow-job, telling her what felt best and what she did that was less
satisfying. She knew she wasn't all that great at giving head the first couple
of tries, but she kept going at it and rapidly surpassed Bruce's expectations,
performing corkscrew variations with her lips and tongue that her lover had
never dreamed of. In less than a week she could play Bruce like a flute,
teasing him at the brink with any number of techniques until he begged her to
give him release. It made Crystal incredibly hot to be in such control, her
body mastering sexual activity just as it did with any other physical
endeavor. In just a few weeks she was certain that she could do things to a
man that few women could match. She gave Bruce blow-jobs that literally caused
his eyeballs to vibrate in their sockets (it sounded weird but it was actually
sexy as hell), then she would straddle him from above and tease him back into
a hard-on with her cum-slickened boobs, using the volume of her beautiful
breasts to tit-fuck him into another volcanic eruption. She loved to watch as
the friction of her big boobs caused him to erupt like a Yellowstone geyser,
his sticky load creating silly-string patterns all over the front of her body.
She found that if she could get Bruce to come three or four times like this,
then he would be able to stay hard for a good ten minutes when she finally
guided him inside of her.

And this was what Bruce loved the best, no matter how proficient she became at
other forms of lovemaking. He actually wept at times after coming inside of
her. She didn't really understand why this was so Ñ when she questioned him
about it, all he could say was that she had a "magic pussy". He was unable to
convey anything more than this, but that was okay with her. Crystal had to
admit that she liked having a man weep for joy after fucking her. She knew
that she was a red-hot lover Ñ she was great-looking and as flexible as a cat,
and she could bring so much energy into a fuck session that Bruce never knew
what she was going to hit him with.

They might have learned a great deal more from each other, but then Bruce's
parents decided to move to Miami. The two young lovers rented a hotel room the
night before he left the state and had a ten hour fuck session where she made
him come so many times that she literally had to carry him to a taxi to send
him home. The two of them crying their good-bye's, Crystal promised that she
would visit him some day and make his eyeballs shake again.

She had two other lovers in high school, both from South Korea. There was a
type that she seemed to gravitate to Ñ Asian guys (the particular country of
origin didn't matter too much) who were about five-nine or shorter, with
close-cropped hair and stocky builds. Personality-wise, she went for quiet
confidence and a good sense of humor over stupid machismo. It also didn't hurt
if the guy could get hard several times a night, because once she got going
with her lover she wanted to fuck for hours. She had a nearly limitless amount
of energy to bring to an encounter, and she was usually disappointed that her
boyfriends could not match her drive. They would do their best, she was sure,
gamely trying to keep up with her appetite and her energy, but most nights
ended with her lover collapsed beside her, totally exhausted, sometimes
struggling for breath, and Crystal would have to play with herself and
fantasize about a more durable lover to finally get herself off properly. She
wouldn't have felt so disappointed in her boyfriends if they had been the ones
doing most of the work, pumping away furiously while she just lay on her back;
but Crystal had enough experience now to anticipate the discrepancy in energy
levels, and she made certain to spare her men as much movement as possible. It
was usually her doing all of the hard work, squatting up above them, using her
powerful legs to slide her hot pussy up and down her lover's shaft. She didn't
mind being the active one Ñ there was nothing worse for her than lying still
while her body was exploding with pleasurable sensations Ñ she just wished
that she could find a man who could keep up and exhaust her for a change.

Her dissatisfaction with this sexual inequality was usually the reason that
she broke things off with a guy. It was always a terrible time, not so much
for her as for them. Some girls might get off on having the power to break
hearts, but it always saddened her to witness the anguish of a man when he
realized that she was lost to him. They wept, they promised to do better, they
begged, they sent flowers or wrote poems or tried all kinds of other crazy
things to keep her. She believed in most cases that they might have genuinely
loved her, but it was probably the loss of having sex with her that drove them
to such depths of despair. She had a big heart and a fun personality, but who
was she kidding? It was the fact that she was built like a perfect sex toy and
could perform like the perfect sex toy that caused her old boyfriends so much
grief when she ended a relationship. She didn't obsess over the thought, but
the truth was there Ñ who could her ex-boyfriends ever find who would be able
to satisfy their cocks like she had? No one. Ever.

Crystal accepted a basketball scholarship to UConn before graduating from high
school. After graduation, she bought a used Subaru Forrester with some of her
modeling money and went on a cross-country road trip with a girlfriend,
thinking that she would take some time to see the country before heading for
college. The trip was supposed to last two months, but both girls fell in love
with the balmy weather of Southern California, and they stayed. Crystal
deferred her college enrollment Ñ she had enough money saved from modeling
that it wouldn't be the end of the world if she lost her scholarship. She
quickly found work hostessing in a high-end restaurant near Venice Beach, and
within days she fell into some modeling work, too, mostly fitness and exercise
equipment layouts, but also a series of plastic surgery ads. It was funny,
seeing her all-natural DD's and other non-enhanced features in newspapers or
plastered on billboards to promote the benefits of surgical alterations that
she'd never taken part in, but plastic surgery was big in Southern Cal and she
was paid well for her work.

When she wasn't working, she showed off her assets several times a week out on
the beach, where she spent much of her free time swimming and sun-bathing.
Wearing a thong bikini, her skin bronzed by the sun, her looks caused such a
stir that she was always surrounded by a horde of surfer dudes eager to teach
her all they knew about riding a wave. She knew that every one of them was
hoping to ride her as well, and she eventually chose a classically blond hunk
named Brad (her first Caucasian lover)to help alleviate her need for sexual
release. Brad asked her to marry him after their first fuck, which was absurd
(to her). She let him down as easily as she could, and a couple of weeks later
she met a man named Seong Li, who became her first long-term partner.

Seong was a stunt-man and aspiring actor, and he was incredible on a
surfboard. Their early dates consisted of night surfing followed by long walks
on the beach, and after nearly two weeks of build-up, the two of them ended up
fucking like crazed animals in the moonlit surf. Seong was four years her
senior, and he was a more experienced and articulate lover than anyone she had
thus far encountered. After their initial coupling, he informed her that she
had a very special talent, which lay in the apparently rare degree of muscular
control that she possessed within her vagina. Crystal was surprised when he
described it to her in detail, because she hadn't thought that what she was
doing was anything all that unusual. She'd assumed that many women could flex
and control these invisible muscles as she did Ñ she could also wiggle her
ears and flare her nostrils Ñ but Seong said otherwise.

It was wonderful to learn that she had a hidden talent. She gave Seong the
benefits of all the love techniques that she had learned up to that point, but
she especially loved to flex her interior muscles while he pumped his cock
into her at full speed, bringing him to explosive climaxes where he screamed
her name so loudly that she had to bury his mouth in her hands to keep from
disturbing their neighbors. Seong was in incredible shape and he had more
stamina than her previous lovers, but the conscious use of Crystal's interior
muscles gave Seong orgasms that left him weakened for so long that they had to
explore other ways to use her body-control for lovemaking. Turning a problem
into an opportunity, she learned how to flex her pectoral muscles so that she
could tit-fuck him without ever having to use her hands. Another favorite was
the "calf-fuck". This one was Seong's idea Ñ he was a muscle freak and he
admitted that he was in awe of Crystal's calves, and just the thought of
having his cock stimulated by these big muscles made him go crazy. With this
technique, she placed her lover on his back with her laying, also on her back,
in the reverse direction. With her legs raised together and his slickened cock
squeezed between her calves, she flexed her muscles and kicked her legs
back-and-forth with such rapidity that Seong's spunk would sometimes shoot all
the way to their eleven-foot ceiling when he came.

Whichever of their games they were playing, Seong came more quickly than she
wished; his gift lay in his ability to quickly recover, so that they could
repeat the process for hours at a time. Seong was into repetition. In his job
he would repeat stunts for as many takes as a director would allow, and
Crystal suspected that repetition formed a large part of his passion for body
building. Seong was totally ripped. He worked out six days a week, and through
him Crystal was introduced to the gym culture in the area. She had never
lifted weights in a serious way before, despite the many modeling sessions
where she had been photographed doing squats or leg-lifts on Nautilus
equipment or sitting on a rowing machine. She felt no attraction to this form
of exercise at first Ñ it seemed tedious and it lacked the thrill of more
dramatic movement Ñ but after a couple of visits she began to be curious about
what her body could do on all of the different machines.

Her beach time shrank as her gym time increased, and she watched her body's
contours shift again as her naturally powerful physique responded to the
weights. Her basic measurements never changed, but the powerful muscles of her
legs became even more sculpted, her arms and shoulders stronger, her back more
defined. Her trim waist looked unchanged unless she flexed this region, and
then her abdomen positively rippled with muscles arranged like the clouds of a
buttermilk sky. She did nothing overt at the gym to attract unnecessary
attention, but with her looks it was often impossible to avoid creating a
stir. The guys at the gym went nuts over her and some of the women did, too.
There were a good number of competition-level bodybuilders who trained at the
gym, and they began to flip-out over the amount of weight she could lift or
the number of reps she could perform. The attention became uncomfortable for
her Ñ it reminded her of the way her wrestling coach would shake her head when
witnessing Crystal's capabilities, as though she was a freak or something Ñ so
she began to pull back a bit, never pushing herself to her limits (whatever
they were) when anyone might be watching.

Still, it was the unanimous opinion of the professionals that Crystal was the
ideal female template for maximum muscle development. They advised her to
adopt a hard-core weight-lifting routine (essentially conforming to the
aesthetic of competitions), then she could go all the way to the top,
guaranteed. But Crystal did not wish to bulk up in the way they were
suggesting. She could see for herself that the women who trained for
competitions all had big veins popping out of their bulging muscles, and their
faces looked gaunt or overly chiseled, as though too much water had been
sucked out of their bodies. It seemed to her that their bodies looked oddly
hard and masculine, while hers retained a remarkable curvy smoothness, despite
her ability to lift so much weight. Crystal didn't really like the big-veined,
angular body-shaping that her boyfriend and his buddies were into. For them,
bigger and harder was always better, an approach to the human body that she
simply did not share. Seong himself was becoming overly-pumped in her opinion.
She loved the way he'd looked when they first met Ñ he had been ripped yet
graceful, having achieved a wonderful balance of form Ñ but he never seemed
satisfied with his physique and had worked feverishly to add another twenty
pounds of bulging muscle during their months together. It was too
aggressive-looking, she thought, almost like a caricature of the
overly-dedicated bodybuilder, and Crystal did not follow his example. Her
muscles were already big enough, her shaping already ten times more beautiful
than anything she saw around her in the gym or on the beach. Her body was as
close to perfect as anything she had seen or could even imagine, and she had
no aspirations of replacing her gorgeous curves with sharply cut angles and
aggressively pronounced veins. She read up on the different weight-training
options available to her, then took a different tack, going for less weight
but with endless repetitions. It meant longer work-outs, but her body wanted
to move all day long anyway, so where was the problem? In the end she looked
more like an incredibly dynamic, large-breasted super-gymnast than a
steroid-pumped muscle-fiend, and she was perfectly happy with the results.

During this time, Crystal was torn between remaining in L.A. and returning
east. She was quite fond of Seong, but UConn was after her to commit to their
basketball program and several other schools were fighting to recruit her for
track and field, or soccer, or volleyball, or swimming. Crystal was told that
if she enrolled at a school with a top-notch basketball program like UConn or
Tennessee, she would probably be a shoe-in for the WNBA after graduation.
Being short was not considered a problem, because every ranked program had
studied films of her production on her high school basketball team and they
knew what she could do. In fact, she was told that with her small stature and
her incredible looks, she could market herself as "the little beauty who
could", and it was a certainty that she would make a pile of money on product
endorsements as one of the superstars of the league.

She was pondering her options one day when Seong grabbed her arm and put her
in his car, and they drove thirty miles to a small airfield with dozens of
colorful, small planes.

"You have to take three or four hours of instruction," he told her, "and then
we can jump together. The instruction usually takes longer Ñ what we're doing
is technically illegal Ñ but I have a special arrangement here with a friend."

"Instruction for... skydiving?"

"Yes! I had to learn for my stunt work. It's amazing!"

It was amazing. Crystal practiced landing and the basics of packing a chute
that first day before leaping from the door of a small aircraft. Everything
happened automatically on that first jump Ñ she didn't even have to pull the
rip-cord Ñ but she loved it! It reminded her of those perfect weightless
moments when flying from one maneuver to another on the parallel bars, only
now the moment could be sustained for so much longer. She studied the sport
for real after that, enrolling in an intensive six-week professional training
program, and she and Seong jumped several times a day for a time, each turn
gradually giving them a longer period of free-fall. When Crystal had conquered
all of the basics and was ready for more of a challenge, one of Seong's stunt
buddies joined them and taught them how to perform various acrobatic maneuvers
through the air.

Crystal ate up the additional instruction. Her gymnastics training and natural
body strength allowed her to master extremely challenging cork-screw maneuvers
that even Seong couldn't get the hang of. She felt as graceful as an eagle,
and she found herself getting horny during free-fall, excited in the same way
that she'd experienced while wrestling. On the ground after one of these
jumps, it seemed that Seong had become attuned to her sexual state. He hugged
her tightly and confessed that he had been hoping that they could both learn
these complex free-fall techniques because he desperately wanted to fuck her
while they were both weightless. He must have thought that she would
disapprove or think that he was crazy, because even with his excitement his
delivery was faltering and his eyes shifted from side to side with shame. But
he had underestimated Crystal's sense of adventure, especially when it came to
sex. Crystal could imagine Seong's cock buried deep inside of her, their
bodies cork-screwing in every direction while they plummeted towards the
desert floor. She could see unlimited possibilities for sexual movement when
freed from the bounds of gravity, and who knew what the added sense of danger
would bring to their coupling? She asked Seong how much longer it would be
before they could try it. Seong doubled his number of jumps per week to get
his technique up to speed, while Crystal devised clothing for the two of them
with discardable Velcro-attached crotches. Two weeks later, when Seong felt
confident enough in his free-fall skills for their mid-air encounter, they set
a date and reserved a plane. It was all that she could think about for several
days, she was so excited.

But it was not to be. When a friend phoned Crystal and told her that Seong was
in the hospital, Crystal assumed that he had been hurt in some kind of
skydiving mishap. Instead, Seong had collapsed at the gym, and was rushed to
the nearest hospital in a coma. He died eleven hours later of multiple organ
failure. Crystal, naturally, was stunned. How could a man so young and robust
just suddenly die?

The answer was provided by the county coroner's examination. Seong had high
levels of unusual steroid-like compounds in his blood. Crystal feared for a
time that he had resorted to these exotic performance-enhancing drugs in an
effort to keep up with her in bed, but soon thereafter another local weight
lifter died of heart failure and was found to have the same substances in his
system. The state authorities became involved, and a criminal investigation
eventually led them to a trainer for the Los Angeles Dodgers. With new
steroids linked to a professional sports team, the whole thing erupted into a
major sports scandal. The Los Angeles Times eventually unearthed the existence
of secret research trials for a pharmaceutical company, in which dozens of
West Coast athletes were being injected with test-evading designer compounds
that increased muscle mass and cardiovascular performance. The State Attorney
General indicted the drug company on multiple counts for the way it had
conducted its U.S. clinical trials, and it was later found to be involved in
other illegal human experiments in several Latin American countries.

Crystal left California two months after Seong's death, returning to New York.
She intended to stay only a short time before finally choosing which athletic
scholarship to accept, but her thinking changed. Maybe it was having Seong die
that shocked her into a new path Ñ she didn't really know what had changed,
but she came to realize that she had needs that went beyond making money on
the strength her physical talents. Crystal was a thrill-seeker. It was weird
to admit it, but it was true. It had become evident to her while skydiving,
but there were other ways that it showed up, too. She could undoubtedly become
the female phenom at whatever sport she chose, but there had been a reason
that she kept moving from one sport to another all these years. The thought of
being tied to a contract as a professional athlete sounded depressing. It was
too easy for her. What she really wanted to do was feel her adrenaline pumping
from the intensity of life itself.

She brainstormed and came up with a list of possible high-intensity
professions where she could use her physical gifts Ñ stunt-performing, as
Seong had done, or law enforcement, even working for the CIA or FBI Ñ but the
answer came when she watched the embedded reporters in Iraq giving their live
reports on the TV. Being a soldier or a government operative held zero appeal
to her Ñ she distrusted the government, and thought that the U.S. military was
often used for corrupt purposes. But wouldn't it be amazing to be a news
correspondent of some kind, not like one of the well-groomed talking heads
behind a desk in a studio, but a reporter in the field, mixing with humanity
and dodging bullets for a living? She imagined summoning her wits and her
strength in a war zone, risking death to get the perfect story or the key
interview, and she felt the same flavor of sexual stirrings that had been a
part of her early wrestling matches. The academic demands of a journalism
program would not be a problem for her Ñ she had been blessed with a
razor-sharp mind to go along with her dynamic body, a fact often overlooked by
people who focused so much on her exterior. She had a gift for languages, she
could write well, and her looks would not hurt the television ratings of any
network that hired her. After researching the top programs in the country,
Columbia won out because it had a great journalism program and it was also
home.

She did exceptionally well in school, exhibiting major gifts in researching
and writing stories on subjects as diverse as international lending practices
to the lives of soccer hooligans. It turned out that Crystal had insight into
the peculiar motivations of her subjects, an ability to get into their heads
and make sense out of seemingly random or uncharacteristic forms of behavior.
Her professors marked her papers with comments like "exceptional investigative
talent" and "brilliant psychological insight", and she especially wowed the
administration with an independent study project working in homeless shelters,
where she reported on the lives of twelve members of New York City's homeless
population. She learned that some of her professors were referring to her as
"The Special Talent." She made certain to keep her GPA at a perfect 4.0, but
even through the workload of full-time study she found time to blade or bike
around the city and work-out at a gym.

She also made time for sex. During her first two years at Columbia, she shared
an apartment on the Upper West Side of Manhattan with two other students, but
in her junior year she moved in with her new boyfriend, Fong. Fong was a
graphic design major who patiently taught her most of what she now knew about
working with Photoshop and Illustrator and other visual software. Fong was
funny and sweet as compared to Seong's more physical intensity, but what she
really liked about him was his appetite for sex. Fong corroborated Seong's
opinion of the special nature of her pussy, assuring her that he had never
heard of a woman being able to do what she could do to his penis with her
vaginal muscles. Crystal was not certain about the exact number of muscles
involved in the manipulation of her vaginal tract Ñ she asked some of her
girlfriends about it and they had no idea what she was talking about. Even her
gynecologist was skeptical when Crystal tried to describe what she could do to
a man's penis within the depths of her body. Intrigued at the thought that she
might have an extremely rare ability, she bought a dildo to practice on.
Having sex with an inanimate object was not a huge turn-on for her, but she
used the device for experimentation and then tried out her moves on Fong.

She gradually developed a few tricks that were so pleasing to her lover that
she could actually fuck him silly without making the slightest move; except,
of course, for the many intricate motions deep inside of her. The easiest she
came to call The Pulse. This was a simple tightening and loosening around the
head of her lover's hard cock. She would sit on top of him, either facing him
or facing away, and invisibly fuck the tip of his cock with no other movement
needed from the rest of her body. This activity alone could completely
devastate Fong, drawing such a vocal orgasm out of him that she had to cover
his mouth as she'd done with Seong, his screams being intense and prolonged
enough that the neighbors would undoubtedly call the police. Encouraged by the
results, she built upon this first move and created a more complex maneuver
that she named The Wave. Fong actually passed-out, his eyes comically
cross-eyed, the first time that she unveiled this one on him. The Wave
involved the carefully orchestrated contraction of many muscles (it felt like
dozens) along the entire length of her vaginal tunnel. At the apex of one of
Fong's in-strokes, she would clamp down on his shaft at its head, and then
massage him with a sequence of movements all the way to the entrance of her
cave and then back in again. It was kind of like playing scales on a piano, up
and then down, or like fucking him to the rhythms of the ocean, grabbing him
like an undertow and then playing on him with many orgasm-inducing currents
and eddies. She could begin this maneuver softly, just contracting her muscles
a tiny bit, but then she would intensify the effect, eventually playing the
length of Fong's cock up and down at an incredible speed and with substantial
force.

The Wave made her lover deliriously happy for as long as he could hang with
it, which wasn't long at all. He would usually come suddenly and explosively
after just a couple of passes; or, when he held out long enough for her to hit
muscular overdrive, his entire body would quake and he would explode with an
immense load of cum and pass out, all at the same time. It was bizarre
love-making Ñ her, kneeling or squatting on top of her prone lover, with
absolutely no physical movement on her part that anyone would be able to see.
Fong, however, would be screaming and writhing and gasping beneath her before
suddenly shuddering, then looking for all the world like he had died. It was
like rocket-fueled stealth-fucking, she thought. She liked the idea of fucking
a man half to death out in public without anyone even knowing that they were
going at it, and, adventurous soul that she was, she decided to give it a
whirl.

In the first two years of college, Crystal had driven to Florida on Spring
Break with a couple of girlfriends. The Florida beaches were not as appealing
to her as those in California; still, she got to surf and play and she even
fulfilled her promise to her first boyfriend by looking Bruce up in Miami and
giving him an encore-fuck that he probably never recovered from.

She and Fong went down together the next year, and Crystal had a secret plan.
During the nights they did the bar scene (where she entered and easily won two
wet T-shirt contests and a "Best Body on the Beach" contest). In the mornings
she fucked Fong into unconsciousness, and then they usually sunbathed in the
afternoons. Fong loved all of the attention that came their way because of her
body. Guys stared and whistled all day long, and you could practically hear
all of the dicks straining and hearts breaking every time she stood and
stretched or went for a stroll along the line of the surf. Fong felt
privileged to be with the best-looking girl on the beach. Crystal was also the
most sexually adept girl on the beach, and on the last afternoon of their
trip, she decided to give her idea a whirl. With hundreds of college students
and parents with little children surrounding them in the sand, some quite
close, she climbed on top of Fong as he was lying on his back sun-bathing, and
with just a bit of camouflage from the towel wrapped around her waist, she
played with his cock through his swimwear. Once he was hard, she opened his
fly and pulled the tiny strap of her bikini bottom to the side, and with one
grunt of surprise escaping his lips, she guided his cock into her.

Fong was not happy at first about fucking in public. He was not as adventurous
as she was by nature, but a couple of quick Pulses brought him into line.
Crystal talked to him calmly about the weather and the water temperature as
she straddled him, her body perfectly still; yet inside of her hot tunnel she
gave him the thrill-ride of his life. When he screamed and moaned she
pretended to be tickling his belly, and she made a point of laughing too, as
though they were having a silliness pretend-fight. A young mother with two
toddlers caught Crystal's eye in a supportive way, her expression telling them
to go ahead and laugh and be young. What would the mother and her children
have thought if they knew that Crystal's skilled vaginal muscles were crawling
along her boyfriend's stunned cock like an inverse centipede? Upping the
intensity inside of her, she hit Fong with The Wave. He began to wail like a
kid at the top of a roller-coaster ride, and she covered his gaping, distorted
mouth with her hand as the pressure built and he screamed out his immense
orgasm. His body jerked for several seconds like a puppet whose master was
having a seizure, and then he lay inert. She talked to Fong as though he could
still hear, then turned him over and covered him with a towel to keep him from
getting sunburned.

Her body still charged with sexual energy, she walked a few miles along the
shore, excited to have made love so secretly among the throngs of vacationers,
but also feeling disappointed by the short duration of the experiment. Every
time that she engaged these extremely responsive vaginal muscles, feelings of
electricity shot all through her body, provoking her already abundant sex
drive to approach the boiling point. She could feel that there was another
level to reach, something beyond the garden-variety orgasm, yet she could
never quite move things to that point of transformation. She got close at
times by combining her vivid imagination with the dildo, reaching a plateau
filled with devastating orgasms, but it was frustrating to have to
artificially stimulate herself and fantasize about a lover who could stay hard
enough long enough for her to reach new heights of passion. With Fong, as with
every lover so far, the encounter was over before she had barely begun, and
she felt lucky to get off at all. There on the beach, while playing Fong like
Bach's organ underneath the towel, her excitement had been given extra fuel by
the thrill of fucking so secretively. Still, she had only achieved a single
orgasm, and it hadn't been much of one. Her pussy still hummed and throbbed
with a deep, unsatisfied hunger.

She walked in the wet sand, occasionally letting the surf wash over her feet
and up to her calves, hoping that the touch of the water would help to cool
the fire burning inside of her pussy. Just like all of the times she'd hung
out on the beaches of Southern California, she began to feel the stares and
hear the whistles of the sunbathers and the guys swimming out in the ocean,
and through the privacy of her dark sunglasses she looked at all of the young
men who were staring at her and salivating over her raging hot body. The beach
was teaming with horny college guys who had come to Florida in hopes of
getting lucky, and Crystal was without doubt the hottest thing that these guys
had ever seen in Florida or anywhere else. Lots of guys were shy, their
staring somewhat masked by their dark sunglasses, but others were more direct,
gawking at her and whistling unabashedly and calling out to her. Crystal's
body filled out her bikini far better than any woman had a right to, and it
was a foregone conclusion that she would create a stir whenever she showed
plenty of skin. She was practically designed to be making cocks go erect while
walking down a beach, and today, with her pussy on fire, she saw that men were
responding as though her sexual state was being communicated to them on the
sea breeze.

But then, suddenly, everything changed. The shouts and whistles ended
abruptly, the beach going quiet with the exception of the breaking waves. She
could actually feel the stares of the men leaving her body. Confused, she
turned her head to the right and saw a group of open-mouthed college-age guys
and their girlfriends all looking away from the ocean towards the upper floors
of one of the hotels. Crystal followed their gaze and instantly knew what was
happening, even though it was difficult to believe. A dark-haired woman in a
bright yellow wrap of some kind was standing on a balcony, gazing out towards
the sea. Crystal gasped, taken aback. Even with the distance she got a deep,
deep impression of absolute flawlessness, a kind of beauty that left her in
the dust. It took a few seconds to accept that what was happening was really
happening, that a woman had features more fine than her, a body more exciting,
because it had never happened before. She tried to focus in on the woman. Her
eyesight was perfect but there was so much distance. It seemed for a moment
that this vision of a woman looked directly at her, and she felt her heart
flutter oddly, followed by an intense warmth, centered right in her pussy,
that rapidly spread throughout her body. By the time that the woman turned
away from the beach, leaving the balcony for the darkness of her room, Crystal
was hornier than she had ever been in her life.

After a few moments, she resumed her walk down the beach, shaken and oddly
agitated. She felt... smaller than she ever had, and there was something
radically different going on inside of her body. Her pussy had been blazing
ever since fucking Fong back there in the sand, but now she felt as though her
entire sexual system was going nuclear. She was so sensitive that with every
step she could feel the tiniest friction of her bikini bottom brushing against
the lips of her pussy. Every footprint she left in the sand seemed to radiate
its own sexual voltage, and she half-expected the water to turn to steam in
contact with her skin. Her body shook as she felt ready to burst into some
kind of sexual super-nova, and she knew that the guys on the beach could see
and feel her state, because they were staring and shouting at her again, more
overtly than before. Maybe they could even smell her incredible excitement Ñ
with every footfall she became more and more aware of how her bikini bottom
was becoming soaked from within, the sweet scent of her vagina blowing God
knew how far on the sea breeze. Could that unbelievably lovely woman smell her
scent? She longed to see and touch that woman Ñ which was crazy, because she
had no lesbian tendencies at all! She loved men... God she wanted to fuck that
woman... er, a man...

She looked around herself and her deep stirring intensified even further. The
beach was teeming with bronzed college boys, and they were all staring at her.
She knew that she could have any one of hundreds, maybe even thousands of
lovers just by crooking a finger. No man in his right mind would ever turn
down an opportunity to make love to a woman like her, and there were so many
men out here... Part of her wanted that Ñ ten lovers, twenty, more Ñ hell,
maybe she could fuck every cute guy on the beach Ñ whatever it took to satisfy
the unbelievable urges that were building inside of her. She imagined what all
of these gawking young men wanted from her. They'd want to feel her taut
feminine muscles and play with her big full tits and grope her round ass.
They'd hope that her perfect mouth could swallow them whole, and they'd
imagine that her intensely curvy and energetic body might be able take them on
a wild and ferocious ride right there in the sand. God, if they only knew what
she could actually do.

Lost in these and other thoughts of unbridled fucking, the wind seemed to take
the scent of her lusty secretions and drive it straight up into her nostrils
until she felt as though she was enveloped within a cloud of her own female
desires. She cried out and fell to her knees. It was like having her lust
recycled through her own body, her excitement propelling her state of
stimulation forward like a powerful set of after-burners. Almost unable to
bear the intensity of her lust, she stood again in the knee-deep water,
staring out at the blue horizon. She began to tremble more violently as the
deep hunger inside of her pussy spread throughout her body, reaching her head
and her limbs, the fingers of both hands feeling as though lightning bolts
could shoot from her fingertips at any second. She gritted her teeth and
moaned. She felt like she had enough sexual energy coursing through her body
to fuck the entire world!

Off in the far distance a tall wave began to form in the turquoise water, a
swelling that was noticeably higher than any she had seen during the day. As
it continued to grow, she felt a corresponding heightening of her own
excitement. Reeling from the force of her intensifying desire, she stared at
the gathering waters, watching the wave rise and swell until it became
imposing in size. Inside of herself, the same thing seemed to be happening.
Her loins began to scream just like Fong did when she undulated the walls of
her pussy around his thunderstruck cock. Unable to move, she stood facing the
approaching wall of water, her pussy feeling as though it contained more
energy than the entire ocean. She felt her feet sinking into the sandy bottom,
the waters near the shore rushing outward to join the monstrous wave that was
poised to strike. Crystal's vaginal muscles began to fire in a similar manner,
with waves of contractions moving deep inside of her while other waves seemed
to be heading out in the opposite direction.

She cried out as she saw a milky, frothy lip forming at the wave's curling
top. The leading edge of the cresting wall became a jagged edge of white foam,
reaching down towards her. It struck her straight on. As she went under,
pushed backwards and engulfed in a storm of churning sand and salty water, her
vagina let loose so forcefully that all of the sensations of the sea
disappeared. There was only the incredible release of energy from her body,
jolting explosions one after another. She must have lost consciousness
briefly, or have gone into some kind of hallucinatory state, because a face
appeared in the blackness of her inner sight, hazy and indistinct at first,
but then gathering clarity. The woman she saw in her mind was impossibly
beautiful. Her eyes fixed on Crystal's like laser beams and a new kind of
energy burned inside her pussy, igniting nerve cells and sexual connections
that had never been awakened before. She felt another wave of excitement build
and crest in every muscle and tendon of her body, and then she exploded with a
series of orgasms so piercing and all-consuming that it felt like the sea
level would rise from the flood of juices pouring out from her erupting pussy.
She came and she came, and then there was a period of nothingness before she
was suddenly snapped out of this odd vision, pulled back to reality by a fit
of violent coughing.

She was sitting in the wet sand, her legs apart and her hair matted to her
scalp. Gobs of wet sand stuck to every part of her body and strands of seaweed
were partially wrapped around her legs. Coughing again, she felt her left
breast jiggle, and looking down she saw that her bikini top was so askew that
her big right boob had escaped from its tiny triangle of cloth and was now
gleaming wetly in the sun.

The sounds of whistling and shouting filtered into her ears. Turning her head
to the right and left, she saw dozens of men and boys pumping their fists and
hooting appreciatively at her bared breast. But why were they whistling at her
tits when someone should be here at her side trying to help? Hadn't she just
been nearly drowned by a gigantic wave? Situating her breast back into her
top, she looked around and was surprised to see no evidence that the wave, the
very high wave that had knocked her senseless, had ever touched the beach.
Blankets and sand castles were still arranged in the white sand, untouched
when they should be demolished or floating out to sea. People stood by the
water, some relaxed and acting normal, some gawking and whistling at her, but
not one person looked as though they had just been smashed by the tremendous
force of a giant wave. She tried to stand but her thighs shook so violently
that she had to sit back down. Her pussy was throbbing and when she looked
down she was shocked to see that the front of her bikini bottom was torn to
shreds. The elastic was still intact Ñ she was not bottomless Ñ but it looked
for all the world as though she had climaxed with such explosive force that
she had literally blown a jagged hole through the thin material of her swim
suit.

She watched the clouds in the sky begin to grow orange and pink from the rays
of the sun descending behind her, and she felt herself getting hot again just
remembering what it had felt like. Had it really happened? She got up
eventually and "borrowed" a towel from the sand and wrapped it around her
waist, then walked back to where Fong still lay unconscious. She felt...
different. Something had changed in the way that she seemed to inhabit her own
skin, although she couldn't quite pin-point the difference and couldn't even
describe it. What she did know for sure was that she wanted to shake Fong
awake and fuck him half to death. She wanted to feel that feeling again, that
incredible inward/outward firing of her vaginal muscles and that burst of
sexual bliss that was unlike any orgasm she had ever known. Had it really
happened? Her ruined bikini bottom and the throbbing pleasure deep within her
pussy said that it had, but what about the wave? All of the sand in her hair
and the seaweed on her legs must have gotten there somehow. She laughed to
herself, thinking about how she had named one of the actions of her pussy "The
Wave". Had she lost touch with reality out there, succumbing to an illusion
that was really just the forces in her own body?

She had no answers, but what was clear was how much she needed to fuck Fong.
Later that night, up in their hotel room, she went at him and made him come so
many times that he passed out again. Crystal, temporarily sated, drifted off
to sleep and began to have the weirdest dream. In this dream, a beautiful
woman reached out and ran her hands all over Crystal's body. The woman's
fingers probed at her as if studying her anatomy, pressing into muscle and
tendon with studied accuracy, searching, learning... As the gorgeous stranger
touched her, Crystal could feel the woman's enormous breasts brush her skin or
press into some part of her body. She could not help feeling aroused. She
reached out with both hands, coming into contact with the two huge breasts, so
firm and grandly swelling...

She awakened from the dream with her pussy on fire. She shook Fong awake and
fucked him that night and Waved his cock so forcefully that she had to wrap
ice around his swollen (bruised?) member afterward, and she literally had to
carry him to the car the next morning. They left Florida, Fong laid out in the
back seat where he groaned in his sleep throughout the long drive back to New
York. He wouldn't allow her to fuck him for nearly a week, his cock so sore
that he even went to the doctor to have it checked out.

Crystal was never quite the same after that. Everything about her body felt
different in some indefinable way. She found herself staring at her reflection
in the mirror for long periods of time, much like she had when her body had
changed in puberty. There were no changes that she could see Ñ everything
still looked flawless Ñ but the feeling, this weird charged feeling... It was
like her body was a car and someone had just given her a fresh tune-up. She
was able to perform at a higher level in the gym, running or swimming or
lifting weights more fluidly than before. She had a clear idea of how many
miles she could run before she began to feel fatigue in her legs Ñ "the wall",
people called it. Bio-rhythms shifted from day to day, but everyone who pushed
hard at the gym knew more or less when to expect their muscles or lungs to hit
the wall. Past that point, mental determination and grit had to supplant one's
physical power Ñ but that barrier virtually disappeared now when Crystal ran,
and the same thing happened when swimming laps or doing curls or
roller-blading around the circumference of Manhattan. For some reason she was
able to handle more reps than before, more weight, more miles, more laps, and
all with such ease... It was incredible, really. Even the way that she
breathed felt different. It was like she had been slightly sick or handicapped
all of her life without realizing it until the handicap was somehow lifted. If
she were still with Seong, she might even suspect that he was slipping her
some steroids every day, but that couldn't be happening. No, it was more like
her body had gone through yet another late phase of puberty or something, one
last surge that could be felt but not seen. But how was that possible? Was it
that monster orgasm at the beach? Had the force of that orgasm cleansed her
body in some way, or broken through some invisible sexual barrier that had
unleashed all of her potential?

Over time, she came to accept that this more capable version of herself was
what she was now. She had always been almost freakishly vital, and now she was
just a little more so. But she was haunted by the memory of what had happened
out there in the sand, largely because she could not explain it. She tried to
recall the exact features of the perfect female face in her vision, but she
could never quite get hold of it. And why would she see such a hallucination
while being wracked with a multi-leveled orgasm? The interior of her pussy
vibrated like a hummingbird's wings whenever she thought about that climax.
She had instinctively known that there were more intense degrees of pleasure
to be attained, and now that she had experienced a heightened sexual plane,
she wanted to feel it again. But how?

Staring at her hands one day, she found inspiration in studying all of the
complex movements that came so naturally to her fingers and wrist. She could
move so many muscles so naturally and all at the same time, and with no real
"thought" involved. If she studied the piano and trained her hands correctly,
she might be able to execute hundreds of actions that were not possible for
her hands now. Why should it be any different with the muscles deep inside of
her? They were there, and she could already execute a certain number of
complex movements with them. And so she practiced, day after day, on her
dildo, seeking an even deeper connection with her vagina's interior. She felt
as though she was trying to completely re-invent sex with only a (possibly)
hallucinatory memory to guide her, but almost immediately she sensed a
different degree of performance within herself. She found herself letting go,
working almost instinctively, and soon found a way to combine the patterns of
The Pulse and The Wave into one delicious movement, something that she came to
think of as The Superwave. She tried it out on Fong one night and he went
completely crazy. The Superwave caused him to have rapid-fire multiple
orgasms, something she didn't even know was within the capacity of a male.
There was a period of time when Fong, seemingly addicted to what she could do
to him in this way, pestered her for sex almost constantly. Although she felt
like she was extracting bucketfuls of cum from him every week, he couldn't get
enough of her, and sometimes even wept with joy as they made love.

Crystal was, of course, pleased, but she still felt that she could go much
farther. So between these daily fuck-sessions with Fong, she continued to
experiment with her abilities, finally uncovering and developing a far more
complex pattern of muscular movement. A month after her return from Florida,
she felt that she had sufficient control over this new variation to spring her
discovery on Fong for his twenty-third birthday. Sensing something of the
power of this new movement, she did everything she could to ease Fong into the
experience; even so, he came so violently that he burst a blood vessel in his
left eye and had to be rushed to the emergency room. Weeks after recovering,
his eye fully healed, Fong and Fong's cock were still in a state of shock, and
Crystal actually feared that she would cripple or even kill him if she ever
unleashed her new movement again.

The potential for danger was totally ironic, because she had come to call this
one The Gift of Life. She came up with the name because she saw a definite
mental picture in her mind every time that she did it Ñ a picture of the
spiraling double-helix shape of DNA. Indeed, it felt as though her vaginal
muscles were contracting in this precise pattern, firing in pairs and twisting
along the length of the cock (or dildo) in a beautiful undulating spiral. She
could go in either direction, clock-wise or counter clock-wise and from the
outside-in or the inside-out, and with full concentration she could activate
all of these variations simultaneously, culminating in one supreme in-out
double-spiraling crescendo. It felt incredible to her when she went full-out
on her stand-in cock, the hidden muscles of her pussy performing what seemed
like an almost infinite number of twisting and spiraling contractions all at
once. She didn't know how she did it, really, but that was like saying that a
millipede didn't really know how it managed to move all of those legs to walk.
If she wanted it to happen it happened, and it was fucking glorious. It was
like playing jazz music with the walls of her pussy, like taking a basic riff
and dancing and fucking and innovating all right there in the territory
between her clitoris and her womb.

But it was music to be heard, or not-heard, only by the dildo, because she
didn't dare use her full talents on a real cock. From Fong's reaction, The
Gift of Life was more likely to become Homicide By Vagina if she ever gave it
a full and prolonged whirl on a human being. Even when practicing great
restraint, her sexual encounters with Fong began to suffer Ñ every now and
then in the heat of passion she would forget, and The Wave or the Superwave
would begin to shift into just the slightest hint of The Gift, and within just
a fraction of a second of this more powerful movement Fong would nearly have a
coronary, along with a wrenching orgasm so sudden and intense that it left him
unable to perform (and barely able to walk) for several days. He began to find
subtle and not-so-subtle ways to avoid making love to her. Crystal was
saddened, partly because she could not recreate the intensity of that
remembered ocean orgasm, and partly because her lover was fearing for his life
every time that they made love. For both reasons, she knew she had to move on.

Crystal went through a string of men in her last year of college, trying to
find a lover who could scale the heights of passion with her. This experience
gave her a new appreciation for how well Fong had done during their
relationship. None of the men she bedded could handle her internal movements
any better than he had, and most were much, much worse. She began her
experiments with the customary Asian studs, but also tried out two white and
two black athletes and even one Pakistani guy, all in an effort to find
somebody who could keep up with her. Surprisingly, penis size didn't seem to
make much of a difference. She had lovers who ranged between five and nine
inches, and there were differences in her pleasure, but not the way she would
have hoped. A longer cock gave her more surface area on which to work her
magic, but the well-hung guys would come just as quickly as the smaller ones,
and no one was capable of withstanding The Gift.

Her rapid turn-over of lovers earned her a reputation as a heart-breaker in
her senior year, the ultra-gorgeous hottie who chewed up fragile male egos and
spat them out like used-up chewing gum. One of her ex-lovers Ñ devastated so
deeply that he felt the need to seek revenge Ñ spread a rumor that Crystal had
made a pact with the devil to enhance the capabilities of her pussy. The
accusation was absurd, but it stung for a while and some of the students on
campus began to look at her funny, like she was a witch or something. Still,
no matter what people thought of her, her answering machine often contained
several pleading or despondent messages from the men she had let go of, men
who promised to do anything for another night in her bed. It made her feel
terrible, having guys addicted to her body or falling head-over-heels in love
with her while she remained more distant and unmoved. She got no joy or
satisfaction from shredding men's hearts or spoiling their dicks so badly; she
just needed to find a lover who could match her talents in bed Ñ hell, she'd
be happy to find someone who could meet her half-way.

In her final semester of college, she took experimentation in the direction of
women, hooking up with two beautiful Japanese girls at the same time. It was
weird Ñ she could get hot, but not nearly hot enough, and the magic of her
pussy was bestowed mostly upon her dildo, which was the norm. The strangest
thing, though, was how much the other girls were intimidated by her. They
loved her body but confessed later that they both felt uncomfortable with her.
Crystal figured that it was mostly from the fact that she was not a real
lesbian, but it also seemed that the girls envied her body too much, like it
made them sad or something that they didn't look more like her and weren't
able to fuck more like her. Wasn't there anyone, male or female, who had the
confidence and the capacity to stay even with her in bed? Until she found such
a person, she would always be aware of a certain hole in her being, a lack of
fulfillment that nagged at her like a wound that wouldn't heal. It didn't seem
fair sometimes Ñ she had been given a perfect, gorgeous, tireless body,
extraordinary love-making abilities and a nearly feverish sexual appetite, but
these blessings also came with greater-than-normal needs and expectations. Was
there no one out there who could meet them? Was there anybody, anybody at all,
who would be able to keep up with her, even for a few minutes?

Even through this personal turmoil, she kept blowing away her professors with
the quality of her school work. She had been an excellent student all along,
but after that pivotal trip to Florida it was not only her body that seemed to
operate better. She would swear that she could access stored information more
easily from her brain, and the creativity of her writing improved, too, giving
her already superior schoolwork an elegance and sense of authority that
shocked her professors. "The Special Talent" was advised to skip graduate
studies and get her exquisitely shaped and talented butt out there in the
field.

It was generally acknowledged that Crystal's looks would make her a shoe-in as
some kind of television correspondent. She sent out resumes and examples of
her work to all of the major networks, plus a few newspapers. She got
interviews almost immediately, but because of her looks all of the offers were
limited to studio work in front of the camera. She knew what they saw in her Ñ
a smarter and much sexier version of Katie Couric or Leeza Gibbons, a stunning
talking head to moderate a talk-show or interview movie stars while the camera
also caught some choice views of her cleavage or her crossed legs. Having her
double-D tits worshipped by millions of TV viewers was no big deal to her
either way, but the idea of hanging out in a studio all day while other
reporters got to go out and confront the action was not an option. She kept
sending out resumes, but every time she got a face-to-face interview she could
actually see the profit numbers forming in the mind of her interviewer. They
were calculating the added viewership with someone like her on screen every
day. Every media executive, male or female, wanted her on camera in a studio
dressed in a short skirt and sexy heels, and these were the only offers that
she got.

Until she interviewed at The Sourcerer. A tabloid of this nature was far from
her first choice as a place to earn her wings Ñ she interviewed without an
ounce of intention of taking a job, mostly to have a good laugh and a story to
tell some day. But it was the first door that opened to her where she could
actually go out into the field. Most tabloid jobs were boring tours behind a
desk attached to a computer monitor, but Hal Higgins promised Crystal that she
would have a monthly travel account to use for on-site investigations. She had
a difficult time imagining herself interviewing UFO abductees or chasing down
vampires, but the sad fact was that all of journalism was becoming more and
more like the sleazy tabloids these days. How different was it to be a
reporter for The Sourcerer or a reporter for something as dreadful as Fox?
Because the big media conglomerates didn't want to spend the money it took to
put reporters out in the field, it was hard, sometimes, to distinguish the ten
o'clock news from Access Hollywood. She talked with friends and her old
professors about her options. Some thought it could be an entertaining lark to
work at The Sourcerer, while others were mortified that she would even
consider wasting her talents on a scandal rag. She never told anyone this, but
she actually wrote the word "Sourcerer" on a slip of paper and put it into a
hat with another piece of paper that said "Keep looking for something real".
She drew The Sourcerer. The next morning, she held her nose and accepted their
offer.

She nearly quit after only two days. The first insult was finding out that
Kiko Yagashima was Vic Daggert's personal secretary. The paper's owner Ñ her
employer Ñ had promoted a massively-boobed internet legend to upper
management? Almost everyone on the planet knew of Daggert's penchant for
large-breasted sex-bombs, but it had never occurred to Crystal that the
paper's billionaire owner might have had a direct role in the hiring of
certain lovely women, and maybe in her own hiring. She had never met Daggert,
but could he seen Crystal, or been told of her beauty? Did he have his eyes on
her big tits? Was he biding his time, waiting for the right moment to
introduce himself to her and try to get her into bed? Every woman she had seen
standing beside him in a publicity photo had been tall and with even larger
breasts than hers; still, if Kiko Yagashima was one of his personal favorites,
then he must be attracted to Asian features. She ran into Kiko in the lobby on
her third morning at work, and didn't know how to feel. The woman was
obviously in her position at the paper because of her outrageously stacked
body, but Holy Shit what a body! Crystal felt small-breasted when in the same
room as Kiko, which was totally weird. She thought she saw some kind of subtle
challenge in Kiko's eyes, and feared that Daggert would indeed show up and
make a play for her. But the paper's owner never appeared, and she didn't see
Kiko again, either. Those two worked on a loftier floor, far removed from the
workaholic reporters and editors that were part of her world.

Crystal expected all of the reporters at The Sourcerer to be slackers or
buffoons, and most of them were. Glenn, however, stood out like the proverbial
sore thumb. After working with him on a couple of stories, she couldn't figure
out what he was doing there. His mind and his reporting instincts were far too
sharp to make any sense, given the context. She wanted to ask him whether he
was just playing some kind of game with his life, but then she remembered that
she was at The Sourcerer, too. Life dealt out some strange cards every now and
then. Still, she kept her ears open and did some private digging around on
Lexis-Nexis. By memorizing his social security number from a personal check
and piecing together a host of seemingly unrelated facts, she discerned a
rough outline of Glenn's secret past. The guy, under a different name, was a
fucking Pulitzer nominee! She read his stories from when he'd been with the
Chicago Tribune, and her regard for his gifts could not have expanded more.
What a fucking writer! Under the name of Glen Stoneman (his real name, she
assumed), his stories championed the little guy over big corporations and
wayward government bureaucracies, much like her own work at Columbia. The
articles he wrote were the product of a compassionate heart and a diligent
mind, as well as an almost ruthless determination to honor the highest
standards of the profession.

She figured out what she could of his reasons to leave his old life behind Ñ
there was a divorce, but no children, and apparently his car was fire-bombed
one time Ñ but she never told him that she knew about his past and his name
change. What must it be like for him, she wondered, to be writing exaggerated
or fictionalized accounts of worthless sex-and-U.F.O. crap in this den of
idiots? When the guy knew that he could take on the injustices of the managed
care industry by putting a human face into his investigative writing like few
people in the field these days, what did it feel like to write stories about
Nostradamus? Glenn Cantell Ñ Can't Tell? As in can't tell the real stuff? Or
Can Tell Ñ as in able to tell the difference between real reporting and the
sleaze at The Sourcerer? Clever boy. His sometimes acidic sense of humor might
be his way of dealing with the absurdity of his situation. Still, he seemed to
be a reasonably content guy.

Except for his love life. It was obvious that he didn't have much going on
there (well, neither did she at the moment). She'd been told of his messy
fling with a former editor at the paper, and she'd seen him a couple of times
on the street with women, but never the same one twice. If they were dates
rather than friends, then the women he'd been with didn't look right for him
somehow. She remembered them as being attractive for the most part, but rather
ordinary. It was none of her business, but she thought that Glenn deserved
better. He was secretly brilliant and he was also a genuinely sweet guy.
Crystal thought that he deserved to have a much better job and a beautiful
woman on his arm, yet here he was, unattached and working at a rag like The
Sourcerer.

Once she learned of Glenn's hidden professional accomplishments, she did
everything she could to work with him as often as she could. He was the only
reporter at The Sourcerer that she could learn anything from. He was also the
only guy that she genuinely liked. She discovered, with time, that she liked
him a lot. Too much, actually. She developed something of a crush on him,
which was completely inappropriate for every reason. The inter-office dating
idea was obviously a bad one, and Glenn's personal history (she learned from
Dalene) bore that out. Also Ñ and this was more personal Ñ Crystal had sworn
off dating for a time. She had become much more careful in her choice of men
since leaving college Ñ she felt remorse for all of the hearts she'd broken at
Columbia Ñ and after a while it just seemed to her that she should stop
pushing so hard at trying to find a man who could withstand the force of her
"magic pussy." Allowing the needs of her pussy to guide her in dating had
gotten her nowhere. Maybe if she was patient for a change and followed the
needs of her heart, the result would be different. She reasoned that if she
fell head over heels in love with a guy, it might not matter to her so much
when he inevitably paled as her lover.

Following this new strategy, it had been four months since she'd had a
boyfriend, and Crystal was certifiably horny. Worse, she sometimes found
herself weaving Glenn into her masturbatory fantasies. It was becoming a habit
for her to wear a particularly provocative outfit at work or the gym just to
see Glenn salivate. Vividly remembering the look of lust in his eyes, she'd
rush home and visualize Glenn when she Super-Waved or Gifted her vibrator.
Without a boyfriend for so long, she masturbated quite often, and Glenn was
becoming the most frequent imaginary partner in these sessions. It was a
dangerous course that she was running Ñ masturbating at home with images of
him filling her mind, then working with him during the day. She sometimes
found herself flirting with him as though they really were lovers already, and
she'd felt it getting the best of her in his office a few minutes ago. While
standing in his doorway he'd been staring at her legs and her cleavage and
she'd felt an intense rush of excitement heating up her pussy Ñ so much so
that she'd briefly imagined walking over to his desk and putting her hands
down the front of his pants. If she wasn't careful, her pent-up lust was going
to get the better of her some day and she might ignite a fire that would be
difficult to put out.

"...seats right behind home plate. What do you think?"

Think about what? It was Martin Whitehead, still jabbering on, still flirting
with her. She'd tuned him out so completely that she hadn't heard a word he'd
said for the past several minutes.

"Uh, wow, Martin. Behind home plate is really something."

"Fantastic! We'll leave around two."

"What? I'm sorry, but..."

He was already halfway back to his cubicle, and she wasn't going to prolong
the conversation by following him into his space. Oh, fuck, what had she just
inadvertently agreed to? A joint assignment? A baseball game? A date? Uggh.
She grabbed her coffee and walked through the newsroom towards Glenn's office.
Glenn would help her fix the Martin problem, whatever the problem was. She'd
soften him up Ñ well, harden him, probably Ñ by showing him plenty of cleavage
and leg, then she would appeal to his knightly instincts. She just had to
remember that the flirting wasn't for real.

CHAPTER 3 Glenn had caught-up on e-mails and the details of his expense
account when Crystal returned. He followed her movements as she situated
herself on the small love-seat next to the ficus plant, where she kicked off
her heels and curled her legs up onto the cushion. Her calves fattened
exquisitely from being pressed against the backs of her thighs, and sunlight
back-lit her dark hair, almost giving her a halo. Damn, the woman was a work
of art. Even her ankles and her feet looked fit. He remained glued to his
swivel desk chair, maintaining as much distance as possible between himself
and one of the sexiest creatures in this world.

"So tell me all that you learned in Extremity," she said. "Especially this
stripper that you wanted me to look into."

He resisted the impulse to correct her. She was teasing him, nothing more,
trying to get a rise out of him. He kept things calm, giving her a run-down on
every detail that did not concern his altered penis. He also left out any
mention of the fact that he'd nearly gotten a blow-job from a hot young mother
with huge, lactating breasts. Isabella, too, and his night of wonderful sex
were absent from the account of his trip. Recalling Cassandra Bliss as well,
it was interesting how so many events of the last couple of days had revolved
around women with big or huge tits. Crystal's tits, molding the cotton of her
button-up blouse in inspiring fashion, would be the smallest of the bunch, yet
she was anything but small. Whether his estimate that she was a DD-cup was
correct or not, her breasts commanded a particularly impressive presence on
her. Even though her body was so fit that she looked like she could rip phone
books in half without too much effort, Crystal was a small woman, and big tits
on small women looked especially big. She casually picked a fallen strand of
hair off of her shirt directly on her left breast, and Glenn nearly choked.

"Lots of freaky occurrences, but nothing that goes together," Crystal
commented on his report.

Her eyes lingered on her left breast, and she smiled, just briefly. Glenn
figured that he'd be smiling, too, if he was a woman who looked that
fantastic. Every reporter in the building drooled over her every day, and...
She looked up at him suddenly, and he quickly brought his eyes off of her
tits.

"Do you have your melted phone with you?," she asked.

"It isn't melted, technically. But yes, take a look."

He'd put the phone, its casing unscrewed, in a plastic zip-lock bag. It looked
like evidence from a crime scene. Well, maybe it was.

"Damn," she said. "I wonder if Hal will make you pay for that. You said there
was anecdotal evidence that everything from cars to clocks might have gotten
their insides scrambled just like your phone?"

"Yep."

"Was this local, or all over that county?"

"Only the town of Extremity was affected, from what I could tell."

"Weird. What does your gut tell you, Glenn? What could cause something like
that? I've heard that strong sun flares can fry communications equipment.
Could somebody artificially generate a radiation pulse like that? Could some
device also generate a tornado?"

"No. That doesn't feel right, Crys. You're making it sound like weaponry. I
seem to remember some talk about the Pentagon developing new power-disruption
technologies for the war with Iraq Ñ electro-magnetic pulses or carbon
filaments that would drop out of the sky Ñ although I never heard that they
were used. I don't see how that kind of thing would be tied to tornadoes Ñ
still, the events must be connected in some way. It's too much of a
coincidence that two unique types of phenomena would hit a tiny town like
that."

"Agreed."

They sat silently for a moment. Crystal shifted her legs under her rear, and
he couldn't help but stare. She was looking especially devastating today. The
short skirt was a big reason, but there was more to it than that. She seemed
to be radiating an unusual amount of sexual energy into the room, as though an
already bright light had been given an extra boost of wattage. He felt his
cock stirring again. Down, boy! You're at work!

He turned away from her to collect himself, then noticed a pale blue color on
the carpet near the door to his office. Curious, he got up and walked over to
it. It was an envelope, with his name hand-written across the front. No
address, no return address, and no postage.

"What is it, Glenn? An invitation? Is there going to be an office party?"

He brought the envelope to his desk and sat back down. For some reason, the
hairs on the back of his neck were standing at attention.

"Aren't you going to open it?", Crystal asked.

He cut the top with his letter-opener and extracted a single sheet of delicate
off-white paper, neatly folded in half. It smelled wonderful. In flowing
handwriting was this message:

YOU HAVE JUST BEGUN TO USE YOUR GIFTS, MY LOVE. MUCH MORE GROWTH IS NEEDED,
AND MORE GIFTS SHALL FOLLOW. SOON YOU WILL SEE THE LIGHT. DO NOT FEAR IT.
DELIGHT IN LIFE'S BEAUTY AND IN THOSE WHOSE LIGHT SEEKS YOU. I WILL HELP YOU
TO UNDERSTAND AS EVENTS UNFOLD. UNTIL TONIGHT, TWOYD

He stared at the words dumbly, an icy chill all over his body. The whole thing
was more like a prank than a real letter. But the words "much more growth is
needed" struck a particular chord. Could it be?

"What is it Glenn? You look like you just saw a ghost."

Had the culprit, the person responsible for his enlarged cock, just delivered
this letter? Could they still be in the building?

"Here, let me see."

Crystal took the letter out of his hand before he'd registered that she was
standing next to him. She read it. "Damn. Do you know who wrote this?"

"No. No idea."

"Glenn! Either this is a prank or you have a secret admirer!"

"This wasn't... You didn't..."

"Hey, don't look at me! If it's a prank, then I'm not in on it."

"Was the letter there when you came in a few minutes ago?"

"No, I'm sure it wasn't."

"Then how could it...? I... I don't think it's a prank, Crys."

"Then you're in trouble. 'My Love... until tonight...' Whoever your admirer
is, she's pouring it on like crazy! And maybe she is crazy. That seeing the
Light stuff, with a capital 'L', sounds like some kind of Evangelist. Do you
know anyone like that?"

"No."

"Well, whoever she is, she has wonderful handwriting and impeccable taste in
perfume." Crystal brought the paper up to her beautiful nose. "It's extremely
subtle, the scent, and not anything I'm familiar with." She sniffed again,
drawing in a good long breath. "Wow! I'd sure like to know where she got
that!"

"I just don't understand..."

"Well, obviously you've made a big impression on someone. You're certain that
no religious quacks come to mind?"

"No, not one. There was this conspiracy-theory nut in Extremity, but she was
nearly sixty years old."

"Who's been flirting with you lately?"

Isabella couldn't be responsible. She would be hundreds of miles away by now.

"No one comes to mind."

"Well then, who gave you a gift recently? It says that more gifts will be
given."

Gifts... His bigger cock?

"I don't know what's going on, Crys. I... I don't know what to say."

"What about the letters TWOYD?," she asked. "It's obviously an acronym. The
woman who wrote this letter is giving you a clue. She wants you to figure out
the puzzle of her identity. Now, what could it stand for? 'These Words On Your
Desk?' That doesn't make much sense. 'The Winter Of Your Discontent?' Too
literary."

Maybe it was the excitement of some kind of romantic mystery, or maybe she
just wasn't paying attention to herself and she forgot to restrain her natural
enthusiasm Ñ whatever the reason, Crystal hoisted her delicious rear end onto
his desk and began to kick her legs back and forth, not ten inches from his
left shoulder, as she continued to stare at the strange letter. She still
wasn't wearing her shoes.

She continued. "How about 'The Wings Of Yesterday's Desires'? That's poetic,
and sounds like an old girlfriend. Or 'Ten Whores Open Your Drawers'?" She
laughed. "That's a good one that gives you something to look forward to!"

Her legs kicked back and forth. Glenn stared at them as intently as a
hypnotized man focusing on a swaying watch. They looked almost impossibly
smooth and strong, and with just that gentle back and forth rhythm, her thigh
and calf muscles rippled in a way that his cock could not ignore.

"Wait! Wait! I've got it! 'Ten Women On Your Doorstep'! That's it, Glenn!
You're being pursued by a gang of female Ninja rapists!"

She erupted in good-natured laughter and leaned back on his desk, her muscled
arms supporting her weight, her legs still in motion. The shift in her posture
amplified Crystal's already extreme physical allure, her arched back adding to
the outward thrust of her big, firm tits. Her fabulous legs now aimed even
closer to his body, definitely inside of what was normally considered as one's
personal space. He leaned back in his chair, away from her, even though every
instinct told him to lean forward. She was the physical embodiment of his most
powerful youthful fantasies, a woman who truly looked like she could properly
fill out a super-hero's costume and perform unbelievable feats of strength
without even breaking a sweat. He stared at the muscles of her arms, the
curvature of her shoulders, and then his eyes slid over to her prodigious
breasts. Stop it!, he told himself, or you'll be coming in your pants again!
He tried to keep his eyes on her face. Don't look at those incredible tits,
don't watch the way the muscles of her legs tense and relax as they sway in
front of you! Staring at Crystal's face was not a difficult thing to do. Her
lips were so beautifully shaped, her cheeks so full, especially when she
laughed like this. He loved it when she laughed. She looked so free, so
playful. Fuck, he'd like to play with her, all right. Play with those big
round tits, play with those legs, play with her inside and out.

Looking at her face wasn't doing anything to curb his lust, so he tried to
wrap his mind around the authorship of the mystery letter. That didn't work
either, because the rest of him wanted to reach out and touch some part of
Crystal's body. Every inch of her, he knew, would be so fucking pleasurable.
His big new dick was fully swollen in his pants and he imagined that some kind
of sexual gravity was forming between the added mass of his cock and her body,
pulling his cock towards her, its growth closing the short space between them.
It would be so easy to stop her legs from kicking by intercepting one of them
with his hand. And what if he did? If she jumped or looked embarrassed, then
he could apologize and let go, and maybe they could forget. But what if she
did nothing? What if she allowed his hand to remain there? He knew he would
take that as permission to begin exploring further, and once started, there
was no way he'd be able to stop himself. Just thinking about his hands
intercepting her legs, grabbing them at the shins, then allowing them to
travel up the insides of her calves, then to her knees and up that short
skirt, feeling the firm flesh of her upper thighs, finding her wet and hot and
ready, maybe even hungry for him...

"Uh, G...Glenn?"

"Yes?"

When every other thing about her was heaven, how glorious must her pussy be?
He had imagined that it whispered to him before, and now that whisper felt
more like a shout. He imagined tracing the outlines of her labia with one
fingertip, exploring every lust-slickened contour, lightly grazing her hard,
eager nubbin...

"G...Glenn? Um, uh, I... I just remembered something I really need to take
care of. You, uh, you ponder your mystery letter for a few minutes... until I
return, okay? Sorry. I'll be right back."

Crystal wanted to run to the bathroom, but she kept her pace to a rapid walk.
Crap, she thought, realizing that she'd forgotten to put her shoes back on.
People were going to get ideas about her and Glenn. Well, maybe they should
get ideas about the two of them!

She passed the ladies' room and kept going down a series of hallways until she
came to the small remote bathroom near the emergency stairwell. It was a
cramped space that was seldom used, but privacy was foremost in her mind. What
on earth had happened to her in there? She'd taken the opportunity of using
Glenn's love letter to get close to him, sitting on his desk and giving him an
"innocent" little leg show. She saw the way that he was staring at her body
and she knew she had gone too far Ñ she really should stop being such a tease
Ñ but then she began to get hot, as in really, really incredibly hot. She felt
a palpable wave of sexual heat rise in her pussy that spread all through her
body, and it took every ounce of willpower she had to refrain from wrapping
her legs around Glenn's neck! She wanted to reach out to him, to draw his head
under her skirt and feel him touch her vibrating clitoris...

And that's when she made her escape, and just in the nick of time! She might
have gone through with it, she felt so fucking horny! Locking the bathroom
door behind her, she let out a heavy sigh and stripped out of her skirt and
pantyhose. The fragrance of deep, insistent lust was emanating from between
her legs. Reaching into her panties with an exploratory finger, she found that
she was lubricating profusely. Whoa! Why had she gotten so turned-on back
there? Yes, Glenn had been staring at her legs, and she couldn't fail to
notice that he was getting a boner from her teasing, but if her pussy
responded every time that a guy got hard from looking at her, then she'd
probably die from dehydration. Still, this time when seeing his excitement,
seeing the large lump forming there in the crotch of his trousers, she had
begun to fantasize that he would grab her legs and seduce her. Once the image
of him eating her pussy formed in her mind, she thought that she would come
right there on his desk! She knew that she had to get away, as quickly as
possible, or she would do something stupid. She had taken one last look at the
bulge in Glenn's pants while making her feeble excuses and it had been a
mistake. Fuck, he looked like he might be packing some real meat down there!
Had she noticed before how big and beautiful the lump in his pants could be?
Her earlier memories escaped her, but the recent vision of Glenn's cock
getting hard for her was driving her crazy. She felt hotter than she had in
months. Or years Ñ in fact, she hadn't felt anything like this since that
mysterious day on the beach!

Remembering that explosion of desire and feeling her blood boiling now, she
stood up on the rim of the toilet, bringing the reflection of her thighs and
abdomen into the wall mirror. She was going to masturbate. She had to
masturbate. Right here at work? She'd never done that before. What was the
matter with her? Had she hit some kind of biological wall from being without a
boyfriend for so long, some hormonal threshold where she just couldn't go
another minute without getting herself off? Oh, hell, she thought Ñ she might
as well do things right if it was going to happen. Off came her blouse and her
brassiere. Completely naked now, she lowered her knees and moved from side to
side to witness the reflection of her body in the small mirror. As always, the
sight of her own beautiful form heightened her excitement and gave her a sense
of well-being. There wasn't one curve that she would wish changed, not one
ounce that she needed to gain nor one ounce she needed to lose. She squeezed
her big breasts together and smiled at the sight, at the deep line of cleavage
that formed between them. No wonder he had gotten hard with her sitting on his
desk. Had her breasts towered imposingly when she leaned back? Had he been
able to see up her skirt? Had his eyes focused on the crotch of her panties,
the crotch that was becoming so wet, so ready for him? Oh, yes, she thought,
look at how ready I am for you, Glenn...

A fresh wave of energy pulsed through her hot pussy, just from thinking his
name. She positioned herself to see the reflection of her fingertips caressing
her hard nipples. Glenn would love to be playing with her big tits, she
thought. Crystal's soft-edged aureoles were so round, so lovely, and her wide
nipples extended to a length of almost a full inch when stimulated like this.
Men went insane with lust when they saw her nipples getting all hard and
excited for them. She squeezed her tits together again and thought of him,
thought of his cute mouth sucking on her nipples. Then she thought of his
hands, traveling up her legs, pausing here and there to marvel at the tautness
of her musculature. She was the perfect woman, the ideal mate, and every lucky
man she'd made love to knew it the moment they first saw her naked.

She could imagine the look on Glenn's face, imagine the excitement he would
feel as his hands and his eyes explored her previously-forbidden flesh. She
brought her hands down to her throbbing cunt when she imagined his fingers
probing at her labia and stimulating her swollen clit. Holy shit, she was wet!
And OhMyGod she was so ready to come! She inserted two fingers into her tunnel
and manipulated her internal muscles, sweeping up and down the length of her
fingers with The Wave. Her fingers weren't big or long enough to do the
movements fully, but it still felt incredible. She teetered on the edge of
release, her breathing quick and noisy, her strong legs beginning to tremble.
Then she thought of Glenn unveiling the dick that she'd seen animating his
trousers. In her mind he drove it deep inside of her, and she let loose all of
her interior talents on his big, long pole, Pulsing it and Gifting it and...

Her lust rose and swelled until it felt like it was spilling out from the
confines of her body, filling the entire room. Not since that hallucinatory
orgasm on the beach in Florida had anything felt like this!! Jolts of energy
shot through her body and she shook and screamed and her lust kept rising and
rising, pushing at the walls and ceiling, compressing the air, surrounding and
undulating all around Glenn's glorious cock... And that's when she lost it,
the image sending her over the precipice. All of the energy in and around her
body found a focal point inside of her pulsating pussy and detonated. She felt
like she was catapulted into the air and she kept gaining altitude, each
explosive orgasm sending her higher and higher towards some eternal orbit. The
sensations washed all over her and through her and just when she thought it
was over she came again, forcefully and loudly.

There was a ringing in her ears when she slowly came out of it. She was
sitting on the open seat of the toilet, spent and shaking, the scent of her
sex filling the small room. She didn't remember sitting down Ñ had she fallen?
And that ringing in her ears Ñ it must be from her own voice, reverberating
off of the cramped walls. She didn't know if she had cried out once or had
just kept on screaming and screaming. She feared that her screams must have
been heard by someone, and there would be a knock on the bathroom door any
second. If anyone came, there was nothing she could do. She was naked and she
didn't even think that she could stand up yet.

She closed her eyes for a time, then reopened them and noticed a large, jagged
hole in the wall opposite from the sink. The drywall was smashed and she could
see one of the metal studs inside with a deep, creased dent in its front. Oh
no, had she punched or elbowed a fucking hole in the wall without knowing it?
She looked at her left hand, which was clenched into a fist. It was entirely
possible that she had smashed through the wall without even being aware of it.
That might have been the most intense orgasm she had ever had! Even that one
on the beach in Miami hadn't felt like this one! Should she have been getting
herself off at work all along? No, that was silly. It had nothing to do with
location Ñ it was all about seeing and fantasizing over Glenn's hard-on. Just
looking at the bulge in his pants had gotten her more excited than going all
the way with her last ten lovers put together. But what did that mean? Was she
going to have to fuck him after all? She sat there, panting every time that
she brought the image of his bulging trousers into her mind. She had to stop
thinking about it, or she'd never recover!

Eventually, after using one of her mother's meditation techniques to keep her
thoughts from wandering onto Glenn's equipment, she was able to stand again,
although she had to use her arms and the sink for support. She washed her
pussy and legs Ñ God, they were wet and sticky Ñ with paper towels and liquid
soap and found a can of air freshener that she hoped would eliminate the
pungent scent of her orgasms from the tiny room. Slowly opening the door,
looking to the right and left like a thief, she exited the bathroom without
being seen. Thankfully, due to the metal stud impeding the blow from her fist,
there was no visible sign of damage to the wall on the outside. She shook her
head and took several tentative steps, making sure that she could walk
normally. She was going to have to return and face him. Goddammit, Skensgard!
You were supposed to be off of men right now Ñ either that or falling in love
with some cute Asian guy who could stay hard for you half the night! Why are
you lusting after the forbidden workplace fruit?!

Glenn used Crystal's absence to check with Lawrence and Dalene, who would have
had the best chance of noticing a stranger dropping the letter in his doorway.
Neither had seen anyone or anything strange. Glenn returned to his office,
trying to imagine who it could have been. The letter had him kind of spooked.
Could it be that young mother from Extremity, waiting to pounce with a
surprise blow-job? No, that was ridiculous. Women with infant children didn't
stalk strangers. Yet someone had him in their sights, and they were playing
with him. "Much more growth" and "more gifts" could mean anything, but he knew
in his gut that the letter was addressing the growth of his cock. Whatever had
happened to him, it was personal. Could he have become the target of an
employee at the GlobalGro facility? Had he passed some woman on the streets of
Extremity who had decided to make him the recipient of growth hormones or some
similar concoction? Was he an unknown woman's fantasy love-pet, as well as her
guinea pig?

The note said that he would see "the Light", but he felt completely in the
dark. It also said not to fear the gifts, and to "delight in Life's beauty".
He wasn't really afraid of anything so far; in fact, after his night with
Isabella, he had to admit that he liked having a bigger, more capable cock,
except that he didn't know how it had happened. As to beauty, he'd gone
haywire when confronted with Cassandra Bliss' unfathomable looks, and he'd
just delighted in mentally seducing Crystal which had left him feeling shaken
and on the edge of professional disaster. Beauty could be trouble, he well
knew. And what about the "until tonight" part? Would he really be able to
confront the person or persons who had enlarged his dick? Was the letter's
author really going to show up and explain things to him later tonight?

He sniffed the letter. It did smell wonderful. He began to get hard again and
was surprised. How could he be feeling so much sexual desire right after
fucking a treasure like Isabella all night long? Glenn knew he had been saved
a few minutes ago when Crystal suddenly left his office. He had proven to
himself that he could withstand a great deal of temptation Ñ running out on
that busty young mother when she already had her mouth wrapped around his cock
was more than any man should ever be challenged to do Ñ but keeping his hands
off of Crystal Skensgard when she was practically shoving her body in his face
was way too much to ask of himself. The woman was too damned sexy for her own
good. She had flirted with him before, but not like today. It had always
remained harmless fun, more playful than smoldering and dangerous, but not ten
minutes ago the two of them were a breath away from being like two sticks
rubbed together. He was going to have to be much more careful.

Crystal returned after another ten minutes, looking more flushed or upset than
he'd ever seen her. Her dark hair was all over the place and she smelled
freshly washed.

"You look like you've been running up and down the stairs, Crys. I can't
remember you looking like this even at the gym."

She shot him an odd smile and told him that she had needed to literally run a
personal errand. Knowing Crystal and her boundless energy, she had probably
covered two or three miles in the twenty minutes. He looked at her bare feet,
though, and realized that she couldn't have left the building. A thought
suddenly came to him: Was she involved with someone in the office? Her flushed
skin looked more like the result of a sexual encounter than a cardio- vascular
workout. Had Crystal disappeared to partake in a quickie?

He shook his head, pushing the thought away. Every guy in the building would
be willing to sell his soul for a shot at her, but he couldn't imagine...
Daggert. Oh God, she couldn't be getting it on with Daggert, could she? It was
bad of him, but he couldn't even think of his ultimate boss as slime Ñ Daggert
was more like the slime on the shoes of slime. If he started to imagine
Crystal getting it on with the paper's sleazy owner, he'd go insane with
disgust and envy and never be able to look Crystal in the eye again. No, she
wouldn't be one to succumb to a major-league sleazeball, no matter how rich.
If she had a lover, it would have to be someone else...

She looked so fucking beautiful with her hair all askew and her flesh all
alive like it was. Is this the way she'd look after making love to him if he
ever got a chance to fuck her? Fearing that his thoughts would stir another
unbidden hard-on in her presence, he grabbed a thick sheaf of papers and
placed them on his lap, thumbing through a few to make it look like they
needed to be there. Suppressing the urge to feed her leading questions that
might reveal whether she was seeing someone, Glenn turned his mind towards
business and asked Crystal what she had learned about GlobalGro and Cassandra
Bliss.

"Okay," she said, sounding winded yet gradually recovering. "Let's start with
your stripper."

"Crys, she isn't a stripper. She owns a cafe."

Crystal smiled. "You never did tell me why you focused on her in the first
place."

"Yes I did. She arrived in town around the same time as the first tornado."

"That's hardly a reason to investigate the woman. You're sure there wasn't
something else?"

She glanced at his groin and her face turned red again. She sure did have some
sharp reporter's instincts. Glenn made a dismissive gesture with his hand to
cover the fact that he didn't know what to say.

Crystal went on: "Y... you said that she was very pretty. Describe her."

How could a woman like Cassandra be described, especially to another woman?

"Her looks are beside the point, Crys. She's extremely pretty, okay? Leave it
at that. Now, are you going to tell me what you have on her or not?"

"Okay, okay, don't throw a fit. I'd be less curious if you didn't seem so
touchy about her."

She crossed her legs and Glenn made a point of looking away, afraid of getting
hard again. There was something in her voice, something in the way that she
crossed her legs... It was like the echo of shockwaves. Glenn would bet a
hundred dollars that she had just fucked some lucky guy.

Crystal took a deep breath and seemed to work at collecting herself before
continuing. "Listen to what I've got: Cassandra Bliss, twenty-eight years of
age, born in Dairy Grove, Minnesota, wherever that is. Went to the local
public schools, graduated near the top of her class, National Honor Society
member, nothing else of note. She shows up next in southeast Iowa where she
studied culinary arts for two years at a community college. No degree. And
that's almost all there is on her. Parents deceased and no siblings. There's a
birth certificate and SS number, a driver's license, expired, from Minnesota,
and then it all goes cold. No credit history, no bank account, no nothing."

"She just bought a house and opened up a cafe. There must be loans involved."

"The house sale and deed transfer both come up on the computer, as well as the
application for a business license. But no loan information. She might have
paid cash. Could she be loaded?"

"Maybe. What about a passport? I think she spent some time in Romania."

"Nope. No record of ever applying for a passport."

"That's strange. What do you think, Crys? I thought everybody in America had a
trail of information following them everywhere they go. Everybody has a bank
and uses credit cards."

"She's flying low on the radar, that's for sure, but it doesn't have to mean
anything. Everything looks completely above board."

Glenn pondered this. It didn't feel right, and he said so.

"Some people are just weird, Glenn. They never get a credit card and stuff
cash under their mattress, just like in the old days. They're eccentric or
perhaps anti-technology or anti-corporation, nothing more. Or, maybe she got
her records expunged or falsified somewhere along the line. It can be made to
happen. People even get their names or their complete identities changed for
some reason."

Glenn imagined that she spoke these last words with a special emphasis. He
knew from personal experience how easy it could be to officially disappear and
reappear as somebody else. He had legally changed his name and had stopped
there, but five thousand dollars placed in the right hands would have given
him a completely new legal identity, the change most likely untraceable. But
he had never told Crys that he changed his name. Had she found out?

"I'd still like to know why we're looking into her," she continued. "If I
didn't know better, I'd think that you were... interested in her. As in
romantically."

As usual, Crystal was uncommonly perceptive. He knew the main reason that he
wanted to investigate Cassandra Bliss Ñ because everything about her,
especially her looks, had repeatedly struck at his heart and brain and dick
like a jackhammer. He still found it difficult to believe that anybody that
gorgeous could exist, let alone that they could make their way through life
without attracting much attention. And she learned how to make that incredible
tea at a community college? He didn't believe it.

"Did you find a picture of her in her high school yearbook, Crys?"

"You don't believe she's who she claims to be?"

"Maybe. Something like that."

"The yearbook wasn't on Nexis. We'd have to contact someone from the school,
or one of her classmates, and have them fax us the photo. But why go through
the effort? I'm still waiting for you to give me a good reason for being so
fixated on this woman."

He was not going to talk to Crystal about Cassandra's huge tits or the way
that she filled him with lust. Knowing that any immediate resolution about
Cassandra was impossible, he moved on.

"So how about GlobalGro?"

Crystal allowed a small frown to be her sole comment on his reluctance to talk
about Cassandra. "GlobalGro Industries became a publicly traded stock on the
NASDAQ in June of 1997. Bio-research company specializing in GM crops."

"GM?"

"Genetically-modified. No patents pending. I couldn't find squat on the exact
nature of their research. Whatever it is, they must not be setting the world
on fire, because their stock has remained fairly flat since the initial public
offering."

"Something tells me that we need to know more about their research. There
isn't a Web-site, that kind of thing? Nothing about... growing things?"

"Growing things is the theme of the Web-site, but it all sounds like typical
agri-business gobbledigook. 'GlobalGro, growing food for your grandchildren's
future', or some kind of nonsense like that. For all that tells you, they
could be developing plants that baby-sit or just improving the formula for
Miracle Grow plant food."

Hmmn, Glenn thought. Miracle Grow?

"I don't see the connection, Glenn, unless you think they're conducting
experiments on the weather, too. But that's a real stretch, and why would they
want to create tornadoes of all things? Tornadoes would hurt crops."

"Not friendly, well-controlled tornadoes. Plus, tornadoes are accompanied by
rain. Maybe their research has something to do with a new form of
cloud-seeding."

"Was there significant rainfall with your 'friendly tornadoes?'"

"I'm not sure. I don't think so."

Crystal's skepticism was on-target. The fact was, he couldn't see any
connection between GlobalGro and the tornadoes either. His interest in the
bio-research facility was there in his underwear. It was the only angle he
could come up with that might explain the sudden transformation of his
genitals. He felt badly about keeping Crystal half in the dark like this. It
was unfair to bring her into the sleuthing if he was going to withhold
information as important as his overgrown penis.

Crystal continued. "The only interesting stuff I came up with on GlobalGro
concerns the political clout that lies behind it. The community wasn't all
that thrilled about the plant being built, but Warren Jones himself helped to
smooth its way, championing the facility as a job-creator, getting zoning
restrictions overturned, that kind of thing."

"Jones. He's the conservative bastard..."

"That's the one. Warren Jones, from Maine, one of the sorriest politicians in
The U.S. House of Representatives. It's a liberal state Ñ I don't know how he
keeps winning re-election. They call him War-Room Jones, because of the way he
goes after his political opponents and critics. Big friend of the military and
pharmaceutical companies. Even though a large number of his elderly
constituents have to go to Canada to buy affordable prescription drugs, he
keeps blocking legislation to reform H.M.O.'s and drug patent laws."

"He's always championing the Star Wars missile defense systems, right?"

"You got it."

"Well, well. Maybe there is a military angle to all of this."

"Possibly. I have to admit that this one has me stumped, Glenn. Bizarre power
outages, tornadoes that do favors for the public... You throw Star Wars into
the mix and it's a hell of a lot more interesting than the crap they have me
working on right now."

"Something about a bleeding Catholic statue?"

"Right. The Virgin Mary, in a dinky church about an hour outside of New
Orleans. I haven't gone down to see it yet, but I've looked at Web photos and
collected eyewitness accounts by phone."

"Let me guess," Glenn said. "Bleeding hands and feet. Stigmata."

"Nope."

"Tears streaming from the eyes?"

"No. There actually is a curious angle on this one. Brace yourself. This
statue of Mary is in serious need of a box of Tampons."

Glenn laughed so hard that he nearly fell out of his chair.

CHAPTER 4 Crystal left soon after that. They agreed that she would help him as
needed on the tornado story. Glenn met with Hal at ten-thirty and gave his fat
boss all that he could tell him. Friendly tornadoes, the elusive bio-research
company, weird power outages.

"It sounds incredible, Glenn! Melting phones and tornadoes that pick up
peoples' garbage? We couldn't have made this stuff up if we tried! What do you
think is going on?"

"I don't have a clue, Hal. This one is a true mystery. So far."

"The stuff about the science place... What was it called?"

"GlobalGro."

"GlobalGro," he mouthed, jotting down the name on a notepad. "Scientific
research isn't all that interesting to our readers, unless it's fountain of
youth drugs, horny pills, things like that. Science isn't sexy, and your
investigation could use some sex. What about this Bliss woman? That's a sexy
name. What did she look like?"

Glenn rolled his eyes. He had a real story here that deserved patience and an
open mind, but his editor, as always, wanted him to wrap it up into a
titillating package. Well, Cassandra Bliss had twin towers of titillation like
nobody's business. Perhaps he could use them to wrap Hal into keeping the
investigation alive.

"The woman is absolutely gorgeous, Hal, with knockers the size of watermelons.
And not those small kind of watermelons, either."

"Hot damn! Find a way to work her in! We'll run a photo of her in there
somewhere. 'Terrible Tornado Rips Blouse Off Of Small-Town Sexpot!' That'll
sell a few papers!"

God, save him. "I'll tell you what, Hal. Maybe we can play up the space-alien
angle. I mean, what else could screw with the weather and so many power
sources? And maybe these space-aliens could be a race of women with enormous
breasts. Cassandra could be the first scout. How does that grab you?"

"I love it, unless you think she's the type to sue. It's one thing to run a
sexy photo of a stacked girl, but calling her a space-alien might be a bit
tricky. Here's what we're going to do. You keep working on this thing while I
think about it, then I'll send you back up there with Crystal."

"What? Crystal? Why?"

"She's been helping you out already, right? Also, she's the best photographer
we've got. Plus, Crystal is total eye-candy herself. Don't tell me you hadn't
noticed. Maybe she'll bond with this Bliss woman and be able to deliver some
really risquŽ pictures."

It wasn't bad logic, but it meant traveling with a woman who could get him
hard as a rock with little more than a glance, precisely at the time that his
penis was a cause of major concern. It had to be a bad idea.

"No protests, Glenn. Now get back to work. Give me a draft with some punch to
it. Be thinking of a catchy headline to go with the photo of the melon lady,
too. 'Mainly Melons', or 'Maine Melons Made Massive', something along those
lines. And try to work around any legal issues. I'll inform Crystal that
she'll be flying to Maine with you on Friday morning."

Two days from now, Glenn thought. He would have to crank out some outlandish
outline while conducting a real investigation behind the scenes.

"Wait! I've got it!," Hal shouted as Glenn was leaving the office. "'Massive
Maine Melons Make Mother-Nature Mad!' Work with it!"

Glenn returned to his office and drew up a list of things to do. Get some real
information from an expert on tornadoes. Find out more on Cassandra Bliss.
Call someone who might be able to dig into the nature of GlobalGro's research.
Determine whether the US. or Canadian military could be experimenting with
weather-altering technologies or weapons to disrupt power sources. Wait. He
amended that one. Call the power company first Ñ maybe there was a much
simpler explanation of what had happened to the power grid and electrical
devices. Next, try to find information on Congressman Warren Jones and any
ties he had with GlobalGro. And lastly, privately, look into any kind of
research concerning the rapid enlargement of the male sex organ.

"I just got the news."

Glenn looked up to see Crystal standing in his doorway again. With one hand
raised and leaning on the doorjamb and the other one resting on her
outward-thrusting hip, she looked like a woman ready to launch into a
strip-tease routine. He fought to keep any wishful images away and gulped.
"Which news is that?"

"That Cassandra Bliss has boobs like melons. I knew she was a stripper."

"For the last time..."

"What kind of melons? Hal didn't say."

"I guess you'll get to see for yourself on Friday," he answered. "But come in.
Close the door."

"You're sure that's safe?"

She was teasing him, but no, he wasn't sure that it was safe. How could
anything be safe when Crystal Skensgard looked like a super-powered sex-doll
designed by his own libido and she constantly sent out Ñ whether knowing it or
not Ñ messages into the air that went something like: "One night with me and
the word 'sex' will have an entirely new meaning for you"? Being in a room
with her was not safe. Going up to Maine with her was not going to be safe,
either. He was relieved in a way when she entered and left the door partly
open.

"So what's up, Glenn?"

He spoke in a low voice. "Hal wants this to be a typical Sourcerer story. You
know, get Cassandra's boobs in a photo and invent a bunch of headline-worthy
nonsense about the tornadoes. I'm thinking that something important is going
on up there, Crys. Maybe it's something extremely important. I want to
investigate this one for real, even if I have to do some of the work secretly.
I'm glad that you'll be right there beside me, but you won't be any good to me
unless we're on the same track."

She studied him for several moments, curiosity etched into her lovely
features. Then he saw her face relax.

"Okay. Consider me on-board. I think we could have a live one, too, although
it looks like a very tangled web. I've been dying to unravel an authentic
story around here. This is my first real opportunity in six months and I'm not
going to pass it up. Tell me what you want me to do."

The woman was a gem Ñ gorgeous, capable, and willing. What more could anyone
want from a co-conspirator?

"We have a day and a half to work on the story from here. Take a look at this
list and pick two or three angles to cover. I'll go after the others and we'll
compare notes before we head up to Maine."

She looked over his list. "Smart thinking about calling the power company,"
she said. "They're the ones who had to go out and fix things, so maybe they
know what caused the trouble in the first place. The military idea still seems
good, though... What's this last one? 'Look into PE'?"

Whoops. Penis-enlargement, of course, but he wasn't going to tell her that.
His mind scrambled like a mouse discovered on a counter-top. "Phone
electronics," he lied. "I thought an expert might be able to diagnose what
happened to my phone."

She looked up at him curiously. "Okay... The phone is yours, and you've been
talking to tornado eyewitnesses already, so that should be yours, too.
Cassandra Bliss is definitely yours. You've met her and I already ran into a
dead-end on her. Maybe you can think of other angles for searching her out.
You could begin by talking to an expert on melons."

She looked up at him to see whether he was biting. He kept his eyes far from
Crystal's own ripe melons and waited for her to go on.

She continued. "I still don't see the connection between the tornadoes and a
genetic research place. That's your wild goose chase, not mine. I'd like to
look into Congressman Jones, though. The man is a major-league asshole. I saw
him on Larry King one time defending the way that drug companies charge so
much more for their products here than they do in other countries. All the
Congressman cared about was drug company executives making a killing from the
profits. I wanted to throw a brick at my TV every time the man opened his
mouth, so I'd be delighted if we could find some kind of shit sticking to his
shoes. Here's what I'll do: I'll look into Jones in general and his GlobalGro
ties if there are any. I'll call the power company in Maine and then dig
around into the Pentagon's interest in weather-related technologies. Depending
on what the power company says, I might also check out any military uses for
power-disruption devices. Oh, and I'll pull up a map of Extremity and go over
it, to get myself familiarized. You talk to experts on tornadoes and phones,
look into Cassandra Bliss, and then knock yourself silly with your GlobalGro
questions."

"Great. I'll also write our cover outline for Hal. With luck, he'll never know
that we're practicing authentic journalism on the side."

"Glenn?"

"Yes?"

"Where do you think this is taking us? I mean, what if we did come up with a
real story? Something important, like you said? This isn't exactly the New
York Times we're working for. Hal would never want to run a real news story.
Hell, if he did, Daggert would cut off his head and parade it around the
office on a pike, and we'd get the same treatment or worse. Best case, we'd be
fired rather than killed."

"Would that be such a bad thing, Crys? How many more bleeding virgins do you
think you can take before you're out of here, anyway? You know you're far too
talented for this place. With some luck, you could be out there delivering
real news somewhere, not serving up fantasies for the depressed and the
misbegotten. But this story... this story has potential. It's got me more
engaged than anything I've done in years. I smell something big here... I
can't really say why... and going after the big ones was what I wanted to do
with my life. It's about time that I got back on-track. I'm not going to worry
about Hal or even Daggert. If the story is as good as I think it might be and
The Sourcerer won't touch it, then somebody else will."

"You're right. I'm glad... I just wanted to say I'm glad that Hal made us
partners on this one. And there isn't one other soul in this building that I
would consider saying that to."

She was looking at him very intensely. He felt so many things stirring in him.
His drive for the story, happiness and fear about spending time with Crystal,
his cock (this could be a real problem), and something else. His heart? Or
something even bigger than that? He looked at her and felt far too much. Her
beauty stunned him as always but there was more to it than that. He had to be
so fucking careful around her. There wasn't one thing about her that didn't
draw him in, and if he wasn't on-guard at all times he could cross a line and
fall for Crystal, big time.

Flirting with the truth, what he said was: "I'm afraid that we're more than
partners on this one, Crys."

"More? What do you mean?"

"We're crossing the line. I think we're becoming secret partners."

She giggled. God, what a smile.

"I'm fine with that. Secret partners, then?"

She pointed an index finger into the air. He took the cue, and pressed his own
finger against hers. It was an unusual gesture for sealing a deal. Maybe it
was designed for them to be able to touch without any further intimacy being
implied, but just touching Crystal's finger made him realize how badly he
wanted to touch every other part of her. His own finger felt electrified and
he was shaken by how intimate the simple touch felt.

"Secret partners," he agreed.

After Crystal departed, Glenn enlisted Lawrence in his investigation of
Cassandra Bliss. The intern agreed to phone some of her high school
classmates, get a yearbook photo, and do whatever else he could think of.

Glenn spent some time on his computer then, looking for an expert in the
science of tornadoes to talk with. He settled on a Dr. Kyle Ziegler at the
National Severe Storms Lab in Norman, Oklahoma. Dr. Ziegler could not be
reached when he called, so he left his name and number. He also left a message
with Sal Meyers, a former colleague at the Chicago Tribune, now a senior
editor at The Wall Street Journal. Sal had covered high-tech industries for
years. If anyone would know anything about GlobalGro, he would.

Having done what he could for the moment, Glenn turned to his own personal
investigation, using Nexis to look up articles on penis enlargement. What he
found only confirmed the extraordinary nature of his predicament. There were
pages and pages dedicated to the subject, some giving case studies, others
dedicated to selling some particular method or product. There was even an
official penis enlargement magazine that profiled the various strategies for
male enhancement. Every legitimate product or technique, Glenn learned, took
time, and sometimes a great deal of time. The results, too, were iffy, and
when they did work, were usually limited to no more than a one-half inch to
one inch increase in length, with less gain in girth. He had already passed
these averages in one night. Still, he read on, going through the options of
pills and surgery and slower, supposedly ancient techniques. He read about
Stretching and Jelqing and a whole host of less-than-perfect drug therapies
and he knew that none of it had anything to do with whatever had happened to
him.

His heart raced for an instant when he hit an A.P. headline about rabbit penis
cells being used to grow enlarged functioning sex organs on test rabbits. The
research, being conducted in Sweden, was described as being in the earliest
stages of development, as many as a dozen years away from potential human
trials. Those horny Swedes Ñ look at what month after month of cold, dark
weather was doing to them. The story was of little help; still, it was the
closest he'd come to finding information related to his experience.

His phone rang and he picked it up.

"Glenn Cantell? This is Dr. Ziegler at N.S.S.L. You wanted to speak to me
about two tornadoes in Maine?"

He did indeed. Glenn detailed the weather facts and anecdotes that he'd
gathered on his trip up north, trying not to forget anything important.

"Mr. Cantell, you said that you work for The Sourcerer?"

"I'm afraid so."

"I thought you might be local, from your accent on the machine."

"A childhood in Texas."

"Hmmmn. Makes us football rivals, I suppose. Well, I'll try to help you out
anyway. I have to say I was surprised to hear from a tabloid reporter Ñ I
don't see many weather-related stories in the check-out lines Ñ but I guess
that having two tornadoes hit the state of Maine like that is as freakish an
event as anything. What exactly did you want to know?"

"Anything."

"Anything. Okay. Let me begin by saying that, though rare, tornadoes do
sometimes occur in Maine, but the average is very close to zero per every two
years. To have two, in the same region, on consecutive nights... Well, I
simply wouldn't believe it, except that we got a bit of information from an
R.A.C. Ñ sorry, that's Radar Operation Center Ñ in Maine. We like to study
these things, you know, in as much detail as possible whenever we can. They
were only F-1's, both more like small, independent rogues as opposed to larger
events originating in a well-developed storm system. We only got sketchy
tornadic vortex signatures on the Doppler system, but it was enough to surmise
that they were both non-descending in character."

"Wait. I'm sorry, but you're already losing me. What do you mean by
non-descending?"

"Sorry. Slightly more than half of tornadoes are descending in character,
meaning that the funnel forms high in a storm cell and descends towards the
earth. Some are non-descending, forming near to the ground and reaching up, as
it were, to the clouds. Others, still considered non-descending, form more or
less simultaneously above and below. Both of the ones you're interested in are
of this last variety."

"Okay. What about the... the seeming acts of kindness that I mentioned before?
Have you ever heard of something like that?"

"In a word, no. It's absurd, and you can quote me on that."

"Is it even remotely possible? I'm not making this stuff up. It's what the
town-folk told me. Could somebody Ñ the military, for instance Ñ have found a
way to control a tornado?"

The scientist laughed for a good long while. "Control a tornado, on that
scale? That's rich, Mr. Cantell. I'm going to have some fun telling that one
to my colleagues. No, no control. Not possible."

"What if..."

"Let me put it to you this way, Mr. Cantell. I've been studying twisters for
two decades now, and I've seen them do some pretty crazy things over the
years, and not just on radar, either. I've done a good bit of storm chasing
myself. I've witnessed whole houses being flattened while a dog house in the
back yard is completely untouched. I've seen a squirrel embedded in a brick
wall by the force of a tornado's winds while a nearby bird's nest wasn't even
knocked out of a tree. What I'm saying is that there really isn't much that
could surprise me in this field. But a tornado being directed or controlled,
selectively choosing who to help or hurt? No sir. It's odd enough that two
twisters could hit the same town on two consecutive nights Ñ I mean, do you
understand the odds against such a thing happening? Two nearly identical
tornadoes, touching down at the same place, at night, in September, in Maine?
The odds must be hundreds of billions to one, maybe more. That's enough of a
miracle for your paper, Mr. Cantell. If you have local people swearing that
the tornadoes went around doing personal favors, then I'd say you're being
played for a sucker, probably because you're a reporter for The Sourcerer."

"That's been known to happen."

"Well. Call me if you learn anything solid that might interest me. Otherwise,
I'll keep my eyes open at the supermarket for your story. Be sure to spell my
name right if I'm mentioned."

"Will do."

The conversation over, Glenn leaned back in his chair and thought about this
information. Hundreds of billions to one odds for two tornadoes hitting
Extremity? The odds were probably even greater than that when it came to his
dick suddenly sprouting several inches. It made him nervous the way that so
many super-coincidences were popping up.

"Glenn? Do you have a moment?"

The face and figure at his door was a total surprise. Kiko Yagashima, Vic
Daggert's personal assistant, stood in his doorway. She did not wait for him
to answer. Closing the door behind her, she stood there a little awkwardly, as
though not certain where or whether to sit down. Glenn's eyes immediately
settled on the woman's overflowing bosom. Having tits that huge in his space
suddenly made his small office feel a good bit smaller.

Kiko Ñ Miss Yagashima to him Ñ had never once entered his office. It was
almost unheard-of for her to even be on the same floor as the paper's lowly
reporters. Glenn motioned for her to sit on his small couch, but she chose to
remain standing near the door. She looked mega-fabulous standing there,
although it pained him to admit it. Kiko was two or three years younger than
himself, pure Japanese, and definitely the best-looking and most bodacious
babe that Daggert had ever captured, and that was saying something.
Long-legged and stupendously busty (both unusual attributes for a Japanese
woman), she possessed every physical quality that Glenn went nuts for Ñ in
fact, he had drooled over her face and body on the internet before she ever
appeared at The Sourcerer.

About three years before, Kiko's killer smile and all-natural super-curves had
created a real stir in the world of big-bust entertainment. She was
immediately dubbed "The Tokyo Miracles", the plurality of her name referring
to the astounding size of her tits. As far as Glenn knew, she had never
modeled completely nude or even topless, but the bikinis and other outfits she
wore in her photo shoots were so small and tight that it hardly mattered. To
his consternation, there were no numbers listed on her Web-site to indicate
the exact dimensions of her breasts, but it was obvious that she was way
bigger than any of the other busty Japanese models who had achieved cult
status. Glenn gauged Kiko's boobs to be only a cup-size or two below those of
Cassandra Bliss, and, like Cassandra, her tits were only two of many
attributes that added up to one infuckinglycredibly gorgeous woman.

In the many photographs he had seen of Kiko, the woman's shining eyes and a
disarming smile helped to project a rare quality of wholesomeness and
approachability that heightened the enjoyment of her stunning figure. Glenn
had ogled those photos just like thousands Ñ perhaps millions Ñ of other men,
but unlike others, he had been assigned to track her down at the height of her
fame for a T&A feature for the paper. Using a six-degrees series of contacts,
he located her and scheduled an in-person interview on one of her rare tours
through Europe. Glenn spent countless hours staring at Kiko's image on his
computer screen in anticipation of this assignment. Kiko seemed to make love
to the camera in every image, and he imagined how she might look at him while
he asked her questions about her breasts and modeling and what it felt like to
be so fucking sexy.

He was making his travel plans and lining up a photographer when Hal pulled
the plug on his mission. Glenn was incensed Ñ it was silly, but he was half in
love with Kiko, in the media-worship way that he usually looked down upon.
Disheartened, he dreamed of what might have been. It was ridiculous to think
that any romantic thing would have taken place between them, but he figured
that just being in the same room as those gigantic tits would feel like an
achievement of some kind. Then, only days later, he had been as perplexed and
disappointed as anyone when Kiko's Web-site suddenly vanished from the
internet. He remembered now how he had read Ñ in The Sourcerer, of course Ñ
that her modeling career was cut short by the appearance of Vic Daggert in her
life. "Media Mogul Climbs Japan's Most Massive Mountains!" read the disgusting
headline, with a photo of Daggert with his arm around Kiko's waist. The
bastard! Daggert had been captivated by Kiko's physical charms just as Glenn
had, but Daggert was not content to stare at a treasure like this on a
computer monitor.

Three weeks after Glenn was ordered to cancel his interview with this internet
goddess, Kiko was introduced to The Sourcerer's staff as Daggert's "special"
assistant. Although Glenn hid his resentment at being used as Daggert's
matchmaker, he still felt a rush of indignation every time he thought about
it. It just didn't seem fair that a sleazeball like Daggert could get every
huge-titted female that he wanted, just because he had more money than God.

For a short while, Kiko's presence at the paper was frequently discussed at
the water cooler Ñ the male reporters frequently commented on the woman's
outrageous curves and beautiful face every time there was a fresh
"Kiko-sighting". Glenn saw her only twice, and both times he had nearly melted
from witnessing the miraculous qualities of her body. The photos of her on the
Web had focused on her wholesome face and monumental breasts, which had left
him ill-prepared for the details of her lower body. The woman's ass and legs
were every bit as fabulous as the rest of her! He had followed behind her in
the building's lobby early one morning, long enough to study the muscles of
her calves and the sway of her ass. He marveled at her every step and thought
that her legs were every bit as good as his ex-wife's, only different. Kiko
was longer and leaner everywhere, and then topped off with boobs that must be
the size of watermelons! He had begun to hyperventilate that morning, staring
at Kiko's every step and every breath, until she disappeared into that other
elevator, the one that went straight to the upper floors that were the domain
of the paper's playboy owner.

Glenn had replayed that image in his mind so many times, like a video. He felt
pressure to remember her details exactly, because he, like every other
employee at the paper, did not believe that Kiko would be around for very
long. No one took her seriously Ñ she could barely speak English when she
arrived, and there were the inevitable jokes about her presumed talents at
taking "dick-tation". The assumption was that Kiko would inhabit the
twenty-fourth floor for maybe two months, tops, then Daggert would move on to
another set of giant juggs and she would be sent back to Japan to lick her
wounds and perhaps show off her molten hot body on the internet again. But she
was a survivor, that woman, and had brains that must be equal in quality to
her bust. Within five months she was able to speak English without error, and
in about the same amount of time her talents for editing stories far exceeded
any of the paper's mid-level goons like Hal. By the time that Daggert was
photographed at an award's ceremony with a different big-titted babe on his
arm, it surprised no one that Kiko remained in her position of power in the
company structure. No one knew whether she was still sleeping with Daggert,
and the question had actually lost its relevance. Kiko retained her position
as Daggert's special assistant, and her influence within the company structure
remained quite solid. She was a somewhat shadowy figure in the building Ñ she
never visibly attended company functions, even though she was assumed to have
planned most of their details.

"I understand that you're working on those tornadoes in Maine," Kiko began.
"Mr. Daggert is especially anxious about this particular story."

Glenn loved her voice. She had just enough accent left for her delivery to
charm his ears. Still, he listened carefully to her tone of voice, seeking
clues. She was on top of the Extremity story, probably at Daggert's
insistence. Why?

"Why is that, Miss Yagashima?"

She made no effort to answer his question. Instead, she walked to his windows
and looked down at the street. Glenn watched her calves flex as she took those
steps, but then his eyes were pulled upwards. He couldn't get over the
precipitous outward thrust of her rack, and the way her breasts pulled the
fabric of her blouse along with them. Just the sight of those folds stretching
out beyond the confines of her business jacket, all converging towards the
outermost roundness of her huge rack, was enough to make him feel
light-headed. Still, no matter how great-looking and mouth-watering she was,
there was a coldness that seemed to cling to her, a sad coldness that could
not be ignored. How could a woman whose adorable smile had lit up the internet
look so formidable and serious now? Why would a woman who exuded so much
approachability on a computer monitor look like an Ice Queen in the flesh?

Glenn took a moment to register the presentation of the woman's extreme
assets. Maybe the problem was how she dressed. Her skirt and jacket combo were
almost too fine, too expensive. The way that she bundled her black hair and
applied her make-up also added to this impression of coldness, and she had
taken to wearing oversized glasses. No one at the paper believed that Kiko had
any real trouble with her vision Ñ the glasses, it was believed, were all a
part of her persona, an attempt to make herself look more professional. Glenn
actually liked the glasses on her Ñ he remembered how Julia had used the
removal of her glasses as the initial part of a strip-tease. And, glasses or
no glasses, there was no getting around how fucking gorgeous Kiko was. Her
face was almost too good to be true, with intelligent eyes and a cute little
mouth that opened in a rounded way that easily invited fantasies of blow-jobs.
Her body was even better. There were a lot of women with huge tits on the Web,
but none whose tits seemed to hold so much... promise. Kiko's legs, too,
seemed to go on forever, especially when they were set off like this by tall
heels and nylons. Even after spending a night with a leg-goddess like
Isabella, he had to admire these stems. They were every bit as firm and
shapely as Isabella's legs, though structured somewhat differently. Different
genetics, he thought, and sculpted by countless workouts in a gym, rather than
by years of dancing.

Kiko suddenly shifted the weight on her legs. "Nice view," she stated, her
head turned to the window.

He couldn't agree more. She was in profile to him, her tits thrusting out
precipitously. There had been a series of photos of her in profile like this,
stunning photos where she had been wearing sunglasses and a translucent white
cotton shirt. The truth was, he had masturbated after looking at those photos.
He had masturbated after looking at many of her pictures, and had often
fantasized about fucking her. The woman's body everywhere was better than he
could have dreamed of, and her knockers looked like they would be a handful
even for Godzilla. She had been smiling in those pictures and in his
fantasies, her expression so full of life. Now, by contrast, everything looked
so controlled. Had her happiness been nothing more a model's trick of playing
to the camera, or had life with Daggert warped or deadened her soul?

"You have a very nice office," she commented.

Glenn's instincts went on the alert, momentarily pulling his thoughts away
from her body. With a woman like Kiko Yagashima in his space, every word she
uttered had to be weighed for its possible significance. The degree of
autonomous power that she wielded was somewhat in question Ñ could she hire
and fire on her own, for example, or only with Daggert's instruction? Not
knowing the answer, Glenn had to wonder whether she was simply appreciating
the view over there, or whether she was bringing up his office Ñ the private
office that he coveted very much Ñ for leverage. The woman was here for a
reason, he knew that much. He tried to read her expression, but was unable to
gather much of anything at all. Even her body language looked practiced, as
though her posture and the movements of her hands were intended to send mixed
messages that left others perplexed about her intentions.

"I don't know whether Hal was clear in telling you to spare no expense on this
tornado story," she said, still facing the window. She turned to him then and
fixed her gaze on him. "Mr. Daggert wants results with this story, and I mean
real results. Consider your expense account open."

Glenn's surprise had to be visible on his face. Expense accounts were never
open-ended at The Sourcerer. What was it in this story that would cause
Daggert, through his personal secretary, to loosen the purse strings like
this?

"Hal will throw a fit..."

"Hal is an idiot," she cut him off, stating the obvious. "I do not want you to
investigate this story for idiots. Be thorough. When you have something to
report, give the information directly to me."

"You?" Glenn was stunned. He had never once heard of a story bypassing the
regular editorial chain of command.

"This is my private number," she said, pulling a business card from a pocket.
"Not even my staff has this number. And this..." She wrote something on the
back of the card before handing it to Glenn. "The code for the elevator. That
code will take you straight to my office on the 24th floor."

Glenn held out his hand to accept the offered card. Astoundingly, Kiko's tits
reached out to him nearly as far as her arm. Fuck! Was the woman only a few
cup sizes smaller than Karen Little?

"I am your new link in the chain of command, Glenn. You report directly to me
and no one needs to know it. Not Hal, not even my own personal assistant. Are
we clear on that?"

Trouble. Memories of Julia Strich surfaced. This had to be big trouble. What
she was doing went against every structural convention in the building and he
wondered why.

"Are we clear on that?", she repeated with more emphasis.

"Very clear," he answered.

"Write your puff story for Hal," she said. "You can include fairies and
dragons if you wish. But what I need from you is your talent for extracting
the truth from a situation. You are to learn everything you can about those
tornadoes. I need to know how they formed, why they behaved the way they
behaved. If someone was controlling them... You just find the facts on this,
Glenn. Top priority."

She turned then and walked to the door, her message delivered. Glenn studied
the sway of her ass as she made the few steps.

"And Glenn," she added, stopping to face him before opening the door. "I know
you share a certain... closeness, with others on our staff. There is no need
to inform Miss Skensgard of our special arrangement. Do you understand?"

"I understand."

Fuck! Was the woman clairvoyant, or was his office bugged?

"Good. Well..."

She smiled at him, and her smile was so genuine that he was momentarily
disarmed. Her expression wasn't completely open Ñ Kiko probably wasn't one to
ever fully let her guard down Ñ still, the smile completely altered her icy
facade. She looked... extremely sexy, like she had on his computer screen. His
eyes briefly roamed over her body again. She had been so amazing in those
pictures, and even with the coldness, she looked better now. He wondered, just
for an instant, what this woman was like in bed. Had she retained her
controlled demeanor when she'd been fucking Daggert? What did the paper's
owner like from his personal secretary Ñ an Ice Queen exterior melting away
into a whorish sexual furnace, or could she maintain that air of controlled
secrecy even while making love? He imagined her whopping breasts wrapped
around a cock Ñ his cock? Ñ her control dissolving... Kiko's mouth opened
slightly, that round opening that seemed perfectly designed for sucking a
dick. She looked so fuckable, so... womanly. Glenn felt his big new dick surge
in his pants, and he was alarmed. Whoa, boy! Not going there. Definitely not
going there!

Kiko had her hand on the door knob and he noticed that one of her fingers was
absently stroking the shiny curved surface. She looked at Glenn dreamily, her
sexy mouth absently hanging open. He had never seen her features convey so
much sensuality. Her eyes went dreamy, as though she was falling into
daydreams of a good afternoon fuck. Was she playing with him, leaving him with
an image that was calculated to drive him crazy? Her expression changed, and
her eyes became more penetrating, as though she was trying to fathom some
secret puzzle. Then, almost with a jolt, he witnessed her face shift again,
the cloud of secrecy suddenly returning. Her face became a mask of efficiency,
but some glint there behind her eyes remained. He suddenly realized that she
was looking him over much like his father used to evaluate cattle at auction.

"I... get a sense of just how far your talents extend," she said.

He didn't know how she did it, but Kiko adjusted her posture in a way that
made the front of her business jacket expand. It looked to him like one simple
inhalation of breath would cause her boobs to suddenly burst through the fine
wool of her suit. He noticed, too, that her finger was moving on the door
handle again.

"Do a good job for me, Glenn. I might be inclined to give you a... reward."

CHAPTER 5 Alone again in his office, Glenn's could not sit still. What had
just happened there? He could feel traps set in so many directions that it
wasn't even funny. Was this arrangement orchestrated by Daggert himself, or
was Kiko Yagashima going behind the owner's back? She was Daggert's personal
assistant, and the fact that she didn't even want her own personal assistant
to know about this arrangement spoke volumes. He felt that a web of lies and
political intrigue were clinging to Kiko just as tightly as her business
attire had clung to her curves.

Why were they all so fixated on this particular story? Daggert's interest had
been apparent to Glenn from the beginning, but damn if he knew why. If it
weren't for his enlarged cock, Glenn would think the story intriguing but
hardly worthy of re-writing the newspaper's rule books. Was the interest
really Daggert's? Kikos? He should tell Crystal what had just happened. Or
should he? He trusted Crystal implicitly, whereas Kiko... In a way he had two
secret partners now, unless he wanted to level with Crystal. He wasn't really
afraid of Kiko... But maybe he should be. There was no way to look at this
situation and believe that his life had improved when Kiko Yagashima, Vic
Daggert's personal secretary and probable lover, had just put her thumb over
him. A shudder went through his body. The way that she'd mentioned a "reward"
there at the end... The woman was fucking gorgeous, but everything could
become so much worse if, somehow, he and Kiko were to cross the line in some
way...

That's when it happened. Glenn had a pen in his hand, and he'd been
unconsciously clicking the ball in and out. He stared at his hand, not
comprehending. He slowly placed the pen on the desk and wiggled his fingers.

What the hell?

It was glowing. His hand was fucking glowing! He reached for it with his other
hand and nearly screamed when he saw that it, too, was surrounded by the same
gold-colored light. He pushed his chair back from the desk and looked down.
Goddammit, his whole body was glowing!

Perhaps another person would have run around the room laughing or screaming,
or fallen to their knees to beg for divine mercy. Who could know the proper
way to react to such a thing? Glenn sat still in his chair and tried to remain
calm. He absorbed the fact that nothing felt different, except for the
pounding of his heart and the perspiration forming on his skin. But he wasn't
in pain, or burning up. He was still Glenn, but he was a glowing Glenn. What
on earth was going on?

He jumped in his chair when he noticed that his ficus plant was glowing, too.
It was surrounded by the same kind of golden glow, extending a few inches out
from its contours. He stood and cautiously approached it, then reached out to
touch it, his own aura passing through that of the plant a moment before his
fingertips met the waxy surface of the leaves. Auras? Is that what he was
seeing? There were tons of New Age accounts of...

He reflexively clutched at the corner of the wall to steady himself when he
glanced out the window. Holy Haba–eros!!! All of the trees in his sight, all
of the pedestrians on the street... Everything was glowing! No, not
everything. No glow around the concrete, or the cars, or a striped umbrella
over a hot dog cart. It was the living things that glowed Ñ the people, the
trees, his plant, himself...

Glenn moved briskly over to the door. Cracking it open just a couple of
inches, he peered out into the news room. There was Lawrence, the intern,
leaning over a computer terminal. The guy was glowing. So was everyone else.
He studied the phenomenon, his reporting instincts taking over for his stunned
mind. The glows were soft in nature, without a hard edge or sharp drop-off,
yet there was a definite and fairly consistent point at which they seemed to
disappear from their hosts. The glows around his co-workers extended somewhat
farther away from them Ñ maybe a little less than foot Ñ than was true with
his plant. He looked at his hands again, and saw that he was no different from
the other people. Could anyone else see that he was glowing? Nobody was acting
strange, but he needed to make sure. He strolled out and got a cup of water
from the big Poland Springs dispenser. One or two people glanced his way, but
they didn't act as though anything was unusual. No wide eyes, no reflex of
surprise. They didn't see it. They were glowing, he was glowing, but no one
else saw it!

Closing his door behind him, he went back to the window and surveyed the city,
now oddly unfamiliar. It was like some kind of hallucinogenic eye-trip. He
closed his eyes for several seconds and then re-opened them. Still glowing.
What the hell was going on? It was extremely beautiful to look at, but why was
it happening? The words came back to him in a rush.

SOON YOU WILL SEE THE LIGHT. DO NOT FEAR IT. DELIGHT IN LIFE'S BEAUTY...

Holy shit! Had it all been laid out for him earlier that morning? He went back
to his desk and read the letter again. More growth, more gifts, and she Ñ
whoever she was Ñ would help him to understand. Tonight. Well, that was
something, but it was only 3:18 p.m. He went back over to the window to think.
Two personal miracles in two days, plus a mystery letter. As with his enlarged
cock, he didn't think he was in any immediate danger. He was just clueless.
Things like this might happen to small-town people in Stephen King stories,
but here, to him, in mid-town Manhattan? And what was it for? Other than
making the world look freaky, he couldn't see that anything else had changed.
He paced back and forth, not knowing what to do. Well, there was no way he
could sit still in his office, pretending that this was some kind of ordinary
day. Maybe he should go out onto the street and see some of those glowing
people and trees up close.

He grabbed his sport coat and left his office. On his way to the elevator,
however, he ran into Crystal. He stopped short, trying to take in this new
wrinkle in an already unsettling afternoon. Crystal's glow was different. Very
different. It was huge Ñ more like double-layered Ñ and it... sparkled.

"What?," she asked. "Do I have something in my hair?"

Seeing the glowing light around Crystal was disorienting enough, but in her
case it was even worse. There were brighter flashes within the already
brilliant light, flashes that seemed to move or swirl all over the place. And
there was another layer of light that seemed to vibrate... no, it pulsed,
almost like the rhythm of a beating heart, but stronger. It was like she had
two more bodies, equally curvy and sexy yet made entirely of liquid sunlight,
one pulsing, and both of them filled with brighter sparkles of light that
zipped all around. He could not keep himself from staring. Crystal's aura made
it look as though she was surrounded by a horde of phantom fireflies that were
caught in the winds of a sudden summer storm.

"Glenn? What's wrong?" She glanced to either side of herself, trying to figure
out what was catching the attention of his eyes.

"Ah, I don't know. Something's come up."

"Something? What kind of something? Something about Extremity?"

"No, no..."

"Is it your secret admirer?"

"No. Maybe. I don't know."

"Well, I'm glad we cleared that up. Did she... What on earth are you staring
at?"

He blinked several times as Crystal looked over her right shoulder, in the
direction where his eyes had been focused. She obviously couldn't see it. Her
body was completely enveloped by a tempest of ethereal lights, but she
couldn't see them. No one could see the glowing lights. Only him.

"Gotta run...," he mumbled, and headed for the elevators.

Out on the street, it took several minutes to get his bearings. It was a
beautiful, bright afternoon; the sidewalks were crowded with pedestrians. To
his eyes, it looked as though gold-colored auras were crashing into each other
right and left, although everything else was completely normal. He found
himself instinctively trying to keep his own glow from being violated by
others, but it proved impossible and pointless. He was beginning to get the
feeling that what he was seeing for the first time had actually been going on
his entire life. Auras passed through auras all around him, and he could feel
nothing strange when it happened to his own.

He got a gyro sandwich from a corner vendor and found some steps to sit on,
then watched the world of mid-town Manhattan pass by, the same but completely
different. He saw no other sparkling auras, and none that were pulsing, which
made him very curious. Why would Crystal's glow be different than all of the
others? She was an unusual woman because she was so over-the-top gorgeous, but
now there was another thing about her to attract his eyes.

He walked uptown, eventually coming to the bottom of Central Park at 59th
Street. It was incredible, seeing all of the tall trees swaying in the breeze,
everything glowing. He strolled into the park, noting how dogs, squirrels,
children, birds Ñ everything was the same. He stepped off of the pathway and
stood under a tree that was beginning to lose its leaves. Freshly dropped
leaves glowed just like the host tree, yet other, dried-up leaves did not. The
difference between life and death, given a clear visual punctuation? Squatting
close to the ground, he saw that the soil between patches of glowing grass
shimmered with the movement of ants and other small insects. If he had a
shovel to turn over a hunk of earth, would he discover glowing grubs and
worms? Perhaps if he looked at live bacteria or even individual cells through
a microscope, he would see that they glowed too.

Sitting on a bench in the shade, he pondered the significance of this. Was his
ability to see this glow a side-effect of whatever had happened to his penis?
Was it weird but irrelevant, or was he being gradually enhanced, genetically
or otherwise? Did he now have a sixth sense, or at least an enhancement to his
sense of sight? Was it all permanent, or would it fade away? And was he right
in referring to the glows as auras? He'd read several accounts about auras
(all in New Age periodicals only slightly more believable than the tabloids)
that described auras as being many-colored, signifying the different moods or
spiritual states of their hosts. All that he could see, however, was the same
brilliant golden color, whether he was looking at a blade of grass or a pigeon
or a human being. Except for Crystal. Yes, except for Crystal. She had the
golden glow, too, but hers had some kind of light-show playing inside of it.
He needed to know the cause of that difference, and whether or not it was
significant.

He sighed, at a loss of what to do next. The day was only half-over, and
rather than coming to an understanding of his enlarged penis, he now had a
dozen new puzzles to solve. He wasn't quite sure of what to do with himself.
Go back to work and ask Crys why her aura was unique? She would think he'd
gone mad. He could park his ass in a chair and just stare at her Ñ he'd seen
other men at the office do it Ñ but what would he hope to learn? He already
knew how stunning she was, and he would undoubtedly lose himself in her
cock-hardening shapeliness, even with all of the little comets winking in and
out of existence in the golden air around her. Maybe he should just go home
and go to bed and hope that his life made more sense in the morning. Or sit by
his phone, waiting for the writer of his mystery letter to call him.

Thinking back on the letter, he noted that she had neglected to mention how he
would be contacted. He remembered just then that he was supposed to meet Joe
at the Hot Triangle for a night of shooting pool. That was still hours away,
but should he go? Yes. Joe was normal, Joe was grounding. If Glenn didn't keep
living his life Ñ no matter how freaky it was becoming Ñ he might go nuts.

He walked over to 59th Street and caught an E train heading downtown. He had
no idea where he was going. Just passing the time, he figured, and trying to
get used to the way that people glowed. He stood in the rocking subway car
even though the train was not crowded, and unobtrusively studied the glowing
passengers. It was interesting how the old or the ugly or the downtrodden
glowed just as brightly as the good-looking, smartly dressed passengers.
Seeing a glowing little baby cupped in an Asian woman's arms, he found himself
wondering how it was that his sense of color seemed to be unaffected by the
phenomenon. The baby was wrapped in white, and its glow pretty much enveloped
all of the white cloth. The white color never seemed to turn yellow, which was
surprising. Similarly, a woman in a pale blue blouse had golden light all
around her, yet the blue of the shirt was not turned a greenish shade by the
yellow-gold glow. It was there and visible to his eyes in one way, yet in all
other respects his perception of the world was unchanged.

The train made a stop at 5th Avenue and dozens of new passengers made their
way through the doors. One in particular immediately caught his eye. The woman
was drop-dead gorgeous, lean yet buxom with shoulder length pale blond hair
neatly capped by a stylish black leather hat. But even before noticing her
looks, he had become aware of the sparkles in her aura. She didn't have a
second aura like Crystal, but surrounding her were strangely moving or
meandering flashes of brighter light inside of the woman's steady glow. They
were different than Crystal's, too, in that they didn't seem to move around
quite as energetically, but they were there nonetheless. The woman took a seat
between two plainer and fatter women, and he shifted his position slightly so
that he could keep her in sight.

And damn, she was a sight. Great bones underlying one of those ideal, Grace
Kelly-type faces that you see every now and then in Manhattan. The style of
her hat was complimented by tight black leather slacks and heeled sandals, and
Glenn couldn't help but notice that the skin-hugging pants clung to a pair of
extremely sexy and well-formed legs. Perhaps she was a model. There were so
many models and stage or film actresses walking around Manhattan that you
sometimes saw a delicious dish like this riding the subways. But then this
woman was really, really built, in a way that no ordinary model would ever be.
She had on a bright red crew neck blouse that was obviously stuffed with some
impressive knockers, but the woman's outermost garment, a black tailored
jacket, made it difficult to determine just how much fire-power she had up
top. A hell of a lot, obviously. More than Isabella? Easily, it seemed, even
though Isabella possessed quite a few handfuls.

Just then the woman shifted in her seat as she reached into a small leather
hand bag, and the front of her jacket parted enough that Glenn was momentarily
treated to a better view of the woman's chest. Great Gargantuan Gazongas!! She
was definitely way bigger than Isabella. This woman had a rack and a half! She
extracted stapled sheets of paper from her purse and flipped through them,
settling on a page somewhere near the middle of the half-inch deep text. Her
lips moved reflexively as she soundlessly read to herself. It was when she
began to make almost overly-dramatic facial expressions while reading that he
figured it out. She was an actress, reading over a script. The next question
that came to him was what kind of actress? Stage? Television? Movies? He tried
to recall any film actresses with breasts that large, but no one came to mind.
Dolly Parton had been in a few movies with her boobs seriously stretching out
some sweaters, but this woman was definitely bigger than that. Could she be
some kind of big-boob porn star? Her figure was certainly right, but the
refinement of her features and a certain brightness there in her eyes made it
seem unlikely.

The train stopped again, and when she remained seated he took advantage of the
shuffling of passengers by placing himself a few steps closer to her. He
noticed that he wasn't the only male passenger fixating on the blond. She was
the kind of woman who could draw a great deal of attention just by breathing.
Glenn found himself wondering about her. Firstly, why did she have those
sparkles in her aura? He'd probably seen a thousand people while walking
around in the past hour, and Crystal and this woman were the only two thus far
to have their golden glows highlighted in this way. Was it the fact that they
were both such great-looking women? That didn't make sense. There had been
other beautiful women on the sidewalks and at the park, but none of them had
sparkled. As he contemplated the woman, he allowed himself the pleasure of
staring at every inch of her, finally settling on the expressive face. He
figured her to be twenty-four or twenty-five years old. Her face was
completely unlined and expertly made-up, and her features were an ideal
combination of pure sexiness and an almost haughty elegance, As she read, he
could see that she had a definite talent for using her features to convey a
multitude of complex emotions. He imagined seeing that face in close-up, ten
feet tall on a movie screen, crying or smiling or preparing to receive a
kiss...

Maybe she had been able to feel his gaze Ñ it sometimes happened Ñ because she
looked up from her script and stared straight into his eyes. God, she was
beautiful. Pale blue eyes and the kind of face that you could lose your heart
to in a second. His normal behavior in a situation like this would be to look
away, to pretend that he hadn't really been staring at her, but for some
reason he held her gaze. He was surprised when she, too, did not look away.
Her steady eyes did not scold him or fear him Ñ they expressed some kind of
interest and they just held him. Several seconds passed like this, then
several more. Her expression was difficult to read Ñ well, she was an actress,
so that was not surprising. After fifteen or twenty seconds of this he thought
he could see the look of a meaningful challenge creep into her lovely
features. Their eye-contact was becoming a game of chicken. Who would look
away first? He smiled and surrendered to her, very deliberately moving his
focus to his feet. You win, he thought. Glancing back up at her, their eyes
met once again, and she smiled at him and nodded her head, as if to say...
what? "Thank you," perhaps, or "There, I won." Or was it more? What had just
happened? Why had she held his eyes like that? Did it have anything to do with
the sparkles surrounding her?

She went back to her script and he tried to be more restrained with his
staring. He noticed, though, that the color in her face had deepened, like she
was feeling flushed. Another transfer of passengers took place at 42nd Street,
but the beautiful actress remained seated. A few moments later, she placed her
script on her lap and removed her jacket, then went back to her reading. On
another woman, the simple action would have gone mostly unnoticed, but this
was no ordinary woman, as the removal of her jacket revealed. Glenn registered
how this unveiling of the actress' grand breasts changed the atmosphere in the
subway car. It had been obvious all along that this woman was built, but her
huge breasts rocketed outward in a way that he never would have known if she
had not surrendered the jacket. Many eyes Ñ perhaps all of the male eyes on
the train Ñ were drawn to the openly-displayed, high-caliber guns there on the
woman's chest. In New York, people could dye their skin green and grow
antennae on their heads and not attract any real attention, but huge tits were
huge tits in every land. The woman must know that thousands of guys were
checking her out every day, just as every guy on the train was getting a good
eyeful right now. But then, if she was self-conscious about the size of her
breasts in some way, she would never have removed the jacket, or chosen that
tight red top. Maybe she liked the attention.

Seeing those big protruding shapes brought his thoughts back to Cassandra
Bliss. This actress was not that huge, but she was headed in the general
direction. He recalled the way that Cassandra's black-clad breasts had been
lit by the sun as they sat talking that afternoon in Extremity. He'd never
imagined that a pair of breasts could be so gigantic and so inspiring. There
must be some point at which voluptuous turned into too-big, but then again,
maybe not. That Karen Little girl looked like she had the biggest tits in
human history, yet they had looked just right on her somehow. He thought back
on all of the gorgeous women he'd seen in the past few days, which brought his
mind to fucking Isabella last night and this morning. Actually, it seemed to
him as though huge breasts had been popping up all over the place in the last
couple of days. Hadn't he dreamed of something like that Ñ huge naked breasts
pressed all over him?

His cock began to harden from the memory. With all of the big tits he'd seen
in the last few days, he could imagine why the dream had come to him. In
addition to Cassandra Bliss and Karen Little, there had been the horny mother
in Extremity, with her big, bursting milk-filled breasts. And wasn't it
strange that Kiko Yagashima would pick today to pay her first ever visit to
his office. The only set of big boobs that he'd gotten to explore in any
depth, though, belonged to Isabella. He had been unable to resist peeking at
the label of her brassiere in the morning. 36-DDD breasts, as he'd guessed,
and they looked every inch of it. He remembered their soft weight in his
hands, remembered their bounce and the way that her nipples grew hard in his
mouth as the two of them went at each other with reckless abandon through the
night. Even though they'd made love so many times, he wished that he'd had
more time to play with and appreciate those big tits. Her legs had been so
incredible and her mouth so talented that he hadn't gotten his fill of her
mouth-watering rack. He should have attached his mouth to one boob and let it
remain there for an hour, exploring every aspect of its firm volume before
moving on to the next one, and then...

He was brought back to the present, to the speeding subway by a loud sigh
escaping through the actress' lips. Everyone on the train turned and stared at
her, but not as intently as he did. What was going on with her aura? The color
seemed to have changed. Yes, it was definitely more orange than all of the
others, more orange than it had been just a few moments before. She looked up
at him and their eyes locked as they had earlier, but this time there was fire
in her pupils, a smoldering invitation behind the blue color that was shocking
to see. She licked her lips seductively and then broke their eye-contact to
glance at his crotch. Whoops. He was hard, all right. He'd allowed himself to
think about huge boobs and about making love to Isabella, and the effects were
right there to be seen in his pants. The actress looked up at him again, her
lips parted and her eyes wide, and one of her hands crept down between her
legs. Glenn watched its short journey, not believing what he was seeing. Was
she going to...?

Then she did. She actually stroked her vagina right through her leather pants.

"Ooooohhhh," she moaned, and hers was not the only voice to be heard.

"Goddamn!", exclaimed a large black man standing to Glenn's right.

"What the...?"

"Great Moses!"

There were whistles and exclamations beginning to erupt all around. A fat
woman shouted, "Honey, you'd better..."

Whatever else the woman said was drowned out by the screeching brakes of the
train as it slowed for the next stop. The actress was unfazed by the changing
movements of the train, and she did not appear to care what anyone thought of
her pornographic gestures. She let go of her script, allowing it to fall to
the floor, and used her other hand to cup her left breast and pinch the hard
nipple poking at that protruding sea of red. Several men groaned. Someone
behind Glenn was laughing nervously. The two women sitting to either side of
the actress leaned away from her, one of them looking horrified, the other
seeming to want a better view. Glenn was transfixed by the actress' audacity,
and, predictably, not one male passenger left the train when the doors opened.
A few of the incoming passengers registered the commotion and unusual
temperature in the car and backed out before the doors closed to try for
another car or another train.

As the subway sped up again, so did the rubbing and the moaning and the
accompanying gyrations of the actress. Glenn was getting incredibly turned-on
by the public performance Ñ how could he not be? Ñ his excitement all the more
intense because the woman kept looking up at him. She looked like a woman
caught in some kind of sexual fever, staring at her own hands as they rubbed
at her crotch and massaged her massive tits. Then she would glance up at him,
her lips parted, her stare drawing him in and making him as hard as he had
ever been in his life. As lost as she appeared to be in her fit of desire, he
wondered whether she still had any awareness that she was inside of a moving
subway car. The color of her aura continued to deepen, growing more brilliant,
more red, as though the color of her tight blouse was leaching into her
flashing glow. Just then she brought both hands up to her massive globes,
pushing them together before teasing both of her nipples through her shirt.

"Hollllly SHIT!", someone exclaimed.

Glenn stared, growing even more excited, imagining what those titanic tits
must look like naked. One hand left to return back to the crotch of her pants,
but this time it slipped under the waistband. She was leaning back in her seat
in a way that would have her on the floor if the train hit a significant bump.
The blond woman moaned, her eyes now shut, and some guy moaned loudly as well.
As shockingly sexy as this woman's public display was getting, Glenn wished
that he could actually see her tits naked. He imagined that she grabbed hold
of the bottom of her shirt, pulling it over her head, then crooked her finger
at him, inviting him to suck on her big breasts. He knelt in front of her in
his mind's eye and she removed her lacy bra, her huge breasts tumbling down to
meet him. He began to suck on one of her swollen nipples...

She cried out more loudly and he was startled out of his fantasy. He was
amazed to see the color of her aura suddenly turn a blazing red in color. It
seemed to be glowing red hot, like a fire surrounding her beautiful body...

Oh, fuck! He didn't know how he knew it, but he knew it. The train was slowing
down again. The sound of the brakes seemed small compared to all of the noise
inside of the train now. People were shouting and whistling, some encouraging
the woman to go on and some yelling at her to stop. But he knew that she
couldn't stop, not with him fantasizing about her. He bolted for the nearest
door and exited as soon as they opened. He fled the train, not looking back,
and ran up the steps toward the sunlight. He didn't know how, and he didn't
know why, but he was certain. He knew, without a doubt, that he had been the
cause of that woman's sexual meltdown!

CHAPTER 6 He walked around again, aimlessly, on the busy streets. He had a
great deal to think about. What he had just experienced, what he had just
caused... This was some very heavy shit.

He made his way down Sixth Avenue all the way to Fourteenth Street, and then
east to Union Square. After grabbing a strawberry/banana smoothie from a juice
joint, he sat at a bench in the park, looking at the glowing squirrels and the
glowing pigeons and the glowing dogs being walked by their glowing owners. He
was onto something here, for the first time in a couple of days. He had gotten
that actress going somehow, just by thinking about it. He tried to recall the
sequence of events on the train and what he had been thinking at the time. He
had noticed her, partly for her looks and partly for her sparkling aura.
They'd locked eyes for all that time, which was kind of strange. Then, after
she'd gone back to her script, he'd begun to think about Cassandra Bliss and
Karen Little and Isabella, and about playing with Isabella's tits the night
before. He'd made himself hard at that point, a natural result of his train of
thought, and he was staring at the actress the whole time, almost
absent-mindedly.

And that was when the actress began to act weird. She'd looked at him in the
same way that an insistent or nearly-desperate lover does, with an ocean of
desire in her eyes. Her aura turned more orange then, and when she looked at
his crotch and saw his erection pressing at the groin of his pants, the color
of her aura deepened towards red and she began her steady descent into that
increasingly steamy performance. Except that it hadn't been a performance. It
had been him, or rather him and her together somehow. He was sure of it. He
had responded to her display of passion by imagining himself there, ready to
play with her tits. He clearly remembered how her aura glowed like a furnace
just at the moment that he began to imagine that he was sucking her nipple. It
couldn't be a coincidence.

Another woman had succumbed to a strange sexual melt-down recently Ñ the
gorgeous young mother back in Extremity. He'd thought she was crazy then, but
looking back on it, how different was her behavior from that of the actress?
And what of Isabella? Hadn't she said that coming-on to a passenger was
completely out of character for her? He tried to connect the dots, zeroing in
on the similarities in each situation. All three of the women were
exceptionally beautiful. All three of the women had very large breasts. He'd
felt desire for all three women, and had focused on their bodies, allowing his
imagination to run free...

Was that it? Was it his mind? The idea was far-fetched in one way, while
completely understandable in another. Of course the mind could affect one's
sexual state Ñ anyone with an active imagination could picture lovers or
sexual situations that brought about corresponding physiological changes. If
Glenn recalled the unbelievably gargantuan bouncing breasts of Karen Little,
for instance, and the spectacular thrust of her oversized nipples...

There. He was growing hard just from the remembered image, and it had taken
all of five seconds. The link between his mind and his own sexual responses
could not be more clear, but to project these feelings onto another person?
That one was harder to accept Ñ it would mean some fantasy-like change in the
power or scope of his mind. But he knew what he had seen. Or maybe the
difference was entirely in his new cock. Could the same process that had grown
his equipment have given it some kind of unseen power? Women were always
saying that men think with their dicks. Could he be shooting out Ñ what,
little ghost-sperms? Ñ when he got hard? That one sounded crazy. Still, these
were the first women he'd desired since his cock had grown, and who knew what
could be going on.

Okay, he thought. All of that could be tested. Now, what about the differences
between the women? The first thing that came to mind was the presence of the
sparkles in the actress' aura. The others, like Isabella and the stacked
mother hadn't... No, not right. He didn't know what their auras looked like,
because he hadn't even known that they existed then. Would Isabella have been
glowing and flashing last night if he'd been able to see it? Was the same true
of the young mother? But then, what about Crystal? Crys had big tits and two
fucking auras! He'd felt wads of desire for her during the last six months,
but nothing had happened to her. Or had it? She had become unusually
flirtatious in his office that morning, sitting on his desk and looking for
all the world like she was practically begging him to make a move on her. If
he could have seen her sparkling aura then, would it have been turning a deep
shade of orange, too?

He had to laugh at his situation and the questions that he was forced to ask
himself. Could he actually see women's sexual excitement now, by watching as
the color of their auras changed? The New Age people would go nuts over that
one. And did he now turn-on all of the big-titted women of the world just by
wanting to fuck them? The idea was absurd. There were tons of fat or plain
women around with big boobs that he wouldn't want to touch if somebody paid
him. But what if he narrowed the question to the women of the world that he
most desired? Maybe. That was a question that he could test and answer. But
even if he figured out what was going on, he still would have no idea of the
how or the why of it. Well, he had to start somewhere.

He walked around the park, looking for an incredibly beautiful and busty
woman. No one, which wasn't surprising. They didn't exactly grow on trees. He
needed to be around more people. Crossing the street, he positioned himself at
the corner of Fourteenth and Broadway. It was around five, rush-hour, and the
sidewalks were packed with pedestrians. He scanned the crowds, trying not to
look too predatory. Hell, this was New York Ñ no one was paying any attention
to him anyway. He saw a beautiful woman in jeans and a halter top crossing
Broadway, coming towards him. Her head was bent slightly as she talked into a
cell phone. Long, curly dark hair, lovely face, long legs and a shapely butt
filling out her jeans, and very big breasts. He looked at her and began to
undress her in his mind. It was more difficult than he would have thought.
Other people got in his way, blocking his view of her. She turned at his
corner and headed down Broadway, and in moments there were so many pedestrians
in his way that he could no longer see her. This was impossible. He needed to
be in a place where his target would stick around for a few minutes.

He scanned his surroundings and saw two young women entering the Virgin
megastore across the street. Both of them looked pretty amazing. He crossed
over and entered the space, thinking of the irony of the company name. The
loud music hit him instantly, and he had to slow his pace as his eyes adjusted
to the dimmer light. It took a few moments for him to get used to the golden
light surrounding all of the customers. He looked at the glowing people
standing in the check-out line, at the heads he could see above the long rows
of music. No gorgeous women. What about the two he'd just seen going in? He
wandered around, flipping through a few CD's every now and then, feeling like
some kind of stalker or pervert. He was, after all, looking for some cute
thing to try to mentally fuck. He reminded himself that he was engaged in an
experiment, that he needed to know what was possible and what was not, and
that he could always break off his sexual thoughts if any of this worked on
some girl.

There, over at that wall. A tall and very beautiful Asian girl in a tight,
shiny black dress and black boots. Sexy legs, really nice breasts, a great
face, and she was standing still, headphones over her ears, listening to music
samples. Glenn went to a row of music stations on a perpendicular wall, put
headphones on Ñ shit, it was some kind of awful heavy-metal music. He turned
the volume to its lowest setting and began his experiment. He looked at her,
furtively at first, but after a few moments he could see that she was inside
of herself, her attention taken by the music. As long as no one else in the
store cared, he could stare as blatantly as he wanted. He saw himself walking
over to her, taking the headphones from her head and then unzipping her from
the dress. The zipper was in the front, and he imagined the front of her torso
being exposed to him, the girl's tits pushing at a black lace bra. She would
look up at him, feeling the heat rising inside of her, terribly excited even
as she knew she should not be. "Here, in the store?," her eyes would say. Yes,
Now. Right here. In his mind he lowered a hand until it found the flesh of her
thigh, and then he worked his way up to her panties. A single probing finger
told him that she was wet and hot and ready for him to go further.

In real life, the girl took off her headphones and perused the music station,
then put on the headphones from another row. There were no hot colors creeping
into her aura, no signs that she felt any excitement even though his fantasy
was beginning to get him hard. So why wasn't it working? Maybe his whole idea
was crazy. The girl should have started moaning or panting, unless there was
something else he was supposed to do. He left her and tried the experiment
again on a young blond girl and got the same lame results. Did he need eye
contact? He saw a third girl in the electronica section. She was gorgeous,
with long reddish-brown hair and European features. He made eye contact with
her and she gave him a faint smile. He sought out her eyes several times while
imagining himself fucking her right there in the aisle, all to no avail. When
she walked away, her eyes darting nervously, he decided that he was pushing
his luck. A security guard would be on his ass any minute if he kept on
mentally undressing the store's customers.

Back out on the streets, Glenn walked south, wondering why it hadn't worked.
He felt that he had done a fine job of fantasizing about the women. Maybe he
hadn't become a miracle-working mind-control mutant after all. Likewise, he
must not have some power in his new dick that got women going, because he'd
been plenty aroused during the experiment. None of the women in the store had
been as gorgeous as the actress, but the last one, especially, had been
great-looking, so that wasn't it. What was the difference?

The sparkles. He knew the answer was correct as soon as the thought came. The
actress had been surrounded by a sparkling aura, while his more recent test
subjects had not. Was that the significance of the sparkling auras, that he
could only mentally fuck the women who were lit up for him in a special way?
He needed to test this new theory, but he would need another gorgeous woman
with... Oh hell. Crystal. She had the flashes surrounding her, and they had
been even brighter and more plentiful than those of the actress. Crystal's
aura was also the only one with that dynamic second layer. If that, and the
number and brilliance of the sparkles had anything to do with a woman's
susceptibility to his sexual thoughts... No. He would not go there, he just
wouldn't. He knew from experience that she could get him hard in an instant,
and fantasizing about her was already a part of his normal routine, but no.
Crystal was off-limits. There was too much that could go wrong, too many
unknowns. If he screwed-up with Crystal, and she had any idea that he had been
deliberately fucking her with his mind, and affecting her that way... No, no,
and no. He had to find somebody else to experiment with.

He walked as far south as Canal Street, and he could see that finding a
sparkling woman was not going to be easy. He'd seen two, so far, out of how
many women? Several thousand? What if there were no others? He walked north
again and still had no luck. He would have to wait for Isabella to return, to
see whether she had the flashes of light. But that would be two weeks. What
about the super-sexy young mother up in Extremity? Perhaps she had a flashing
aura for him. He was scheduled to make another trip up to Extremity soon, and
he could drop in on her again, and then...

Dammit, Crystal again! She would be there in Extremity with him! If the
sparkles were as significant as he was thinking, then how could he travel with
her? Hell, how could he work with her at all? If he tried to count the number
of times that he'd gotten horny in the past six months while looking at her...

Looking at his watch Ñ which wasn't there Ñ he was reminded that he should
replace his melted timepiece. He stepped into a shop with watches and
electronic equipment displayed in the window and picked out a black digital
with alarm. Fitting it onto his wrist out on the sidewalk, he saw that the sky
had darkened considerably. He looked up at an overcast sky the color of dirty
cotton candy and felt a stiff breeze moving through his hair. The air held the
promise of rain. How long had he been walking around? It was after
seven-thirty now. He was in the Village, on one of those narrow streets whose
name he could never remember. He should give up, try another day. He should
catch an uptown train, go home, shower and change. Then he could head down to
Chelsea and meet Joe for some pool.

That's when he saw her. Heavenly Haba–eros, whattasettawhoppers!!! She was so
incredibly hot that she could never be missed under any circumstances, but the
wildly sparkling aura extending out around her made certain that he didn't
pass her by. He was in front of a boutique called The Lion Tamer, and she was
visible through the window, showing some kind of outfit to another woman. What
an absolute knock-out she was, and what a gigantic set of gazongas she had! He
stared at them, flabbergasted. Stepping closer to the window, he tore his eyes
away from the woman's bulging breasts long enough to realize that this was
more of a girl than a woman. She was young, maybe even quite young, even
though it looked as though her tits had been growing for many years.

Nervous about staring like this at someone who might be underage, he pretended
to look in at the merchandise. It was a lingerie store, and one geared to more
adventurous tastes than something like Victoria's Secret. Lots of leather,
vinyl, sex toys Ñ a New York store. The girl he was interested in looked to be
wearing some of the store's merchandise, and man was she something. He'd been
hoping to find some good-looking woman to experiment on, but maybe his sights
had been set way too low. This girl was great-great-looking and then some, the
kind of girl who makes your heart go all jumpy the instant you see her.
Despite looking so fresh and young, she was for all intents and purposes as
steamy and curvy as Cassandra Bliss, but even more important now was the
multitude of flashing lights dancing all around her body. He felt heavy drops
of rain on his shoulders, and people began to run all around him in an attempt
to avoid getting soaked. And so here it was. Everything was telling him that
this was his opportunity, that he should go inside and see what he could do.
He stepped in through the door, nervous but determined.

It took twenty or thirty seconds before a different salesgirl approached him.
She was very cute, tall with a good figure and not wearing very much. No
sparkles, though.

"Looking for something for your girlfriend?"

He nodded yes, and told her that he just wanted to look around for a bit to
see what there was.

"Play toys along that wall and behind the counter," she said. "Outfits and
lingerie everywhere else. The styles get more adventurous towards the back."

He thanked her and moved to where he could see his target. Her back was to
him, but even from this viewpoint it was clear just how extreme her tits were.
The girl's hair fell in gentle cascading curves all the way down to the small
of her back, its red/gold color a perfect compliment to the more yellow/gold
glow that only he could see. She was wearing a barely-there black leather
miniskirt and high-heeled leather boots that ended above her knees, and a
black leather garment up top unlike anything he'd ever seen before. It was
configured something like a strapless bra, but it had dangling leather fringe
that tickled the girl's bare mid-section. The skin of her waist and exposed
shoulders was fair and well-muscled, holding all of the peachiness of youth,
but it was the astounding eruption of the girl's frontal curves that made him
unconsciously shake his head. He stole as many looks at her as he thought he
could get away with, astounded each time by her degree of pulchritude.
Occasionally she turned more in his direction, and his estimation of her
beauty rose with every view.

She was a remarkable creature in every way Ñ wonderful thighs disappearing
into her shiny leather boots, about five-four or five, green eyes, and just a
cute, light sprinkling of pale freckles on her cheeks and nose. She looked
young. In fact, she looked very young. He guessed that she was still in her
teens, but she had features that retained the look of an even younger child,
with big wide eyes, a small, slightly upturned nose, and a pouty mouth with an
upper lip that had a high, youthful arch. Her body, by contrast, exploded with
sinfully delicious curves that were not childlike at all. Her breasts,
especially, held no echoes of childhood. These were not the cock- hardening,
Texas-sized tits that women like Isabella and Crystal were blessed with; no,
this pair had gone past big and really, really big into some other zone Ñ
something very much like the Kiko Yagashima or the Cassandra Bliss zone. It
looked as though God had equipped this young girl with a set of energetic
mega-whoppers and then decided to super-size them from there.

Were they real? They certainly looked real. The exposed upper half of the
girl's tremendous tits, which took up an acre of space in front of her,
billowed out precipitously, appearing to be as much holstered as contained by
her skimpy attire. Her boobs were so big and the fringed garment holding them
so small that Glenn thought the design of this little thing should win some
kind of engineering award. What size bra did a girl like that wear, he
wondered? He had handled a pair of DDD-cup boobs the night before and had been
amazed and thrilled by their weight and pliability, but this young girl's
breasts looked like they could swallow Isabella's tits whole and then still be
hungry for more. She was... exceptional, extraordinary. He thought so and his
dick thought so, as it applauded her bountiful beauty by enthusiastically
stirring in his pants.

He tried to temporarily contain his lust, picking through a rack of silk and
leather thongs as he waited for the girl to finish her business with her
current customer. Why did she have all of those lights in her glow? They
flashed at him like little neon signs, meandering and popping up and then
winking out unexpectedly. The girl's glow had only one layer, like the actress
on the train, yet it was more like Crystal's in the way that the flashes of
light seemed to move around with so much energy. He tried to look at the girl,
not the flashes, as she finally approached him. He couldn't help but notice
the way that her knockers took up so much of the space in the narrow aisle.

"See something you like?"

She had to know how loaded her question was. In her eyes he saw a paradox Ñ
bright, youthful innocence somehow combined with the promise of exquisitely
powerful sexual abandon. It was an intoxicating combination. The girl looked
like she should be licking a lollipop and sucking you off all at the same
time. How many men, he wondered, had crumbled in this store and bought dozens
of unwanted things when confronted with that look? How much merchandise had
she sold just by batting those eyes and jiggling those mammoth tits? He worked
to remember his mission, which just might give him the opportunity to see what
those eyes looked like when she was ready to come.

"Maybe," he began. "I'm, ah, looking for a birthday gift. For my girlfriend."

"Is she naughty or nice?"

What a question. Since there was no real girlfriend, what should he say?

"Let's start out with nice," he replied. "I guess you could say that she's a
good girl."

"Too bad. Are you sure you don't want to bring her around? To the dark side, I
mean."

The girl did nothing but smile, yet a wave of movement coursed through the
expansiveness of her chest as though she had belly-laughed. Goddamn!!!

"Well..."

She giggled slightly and covered her mouth. The gesture again reminded him of
a much younger girl.

"Follow me, handsome. I can show you a couple of things that will change your
life."

He would just bet that she could. He walked behind her as she led him to the
back of the store. There was pulsing techno music coming out of a pair of
ceiling speakers, and he watched, fascinated, as the girl's leather-clad ass
swayed in perfect rhythm with the beat. Even the outer curves of those
whopping breasts, easily visible from the rear, seemed to jiggle to the beat.
Was it deliberate, he wondered, or an unconscious alignment? Did a person's
body movements meld with this music when exposed to it long enough? She
stopped and turned abruptly and he nearly crashed into her boobs.

"We carry nice," she said, and just watching her lips mouth the word "nice"
sent a stab of excitement through his cock. Somehow the word "nice" took on
layer upon layer of sinful possibility. "But you could go to Victoria's Secret
and find something for a good girl," she continued. "Here, you can let your
imagination go free. They say that the clothes can make the man. It's even
more true that the underthings can make a woman. So don't think of what your
girlfriend is like Ñ think of how you wish her to be." She looked him in the
eye and her eyes smiled. "Somehow I get the feeling that you're prepared to go
far, far beyond 'nice'."

One of the girl's hands played with the fringe under her boobs while she
talked, the movement meant to attract his eyes. Man, did she know how to go
for the advantage! He stared at her small hand, at the way that it nearly
disappeared inside of the shadow formed by her giant rack. Even the girl's
tight, bare waist looked tiny below those boobs, as though it was the narrow
trunk of a tree that bore enormous, magical fruit.

"What kind of figure does she have?"

"Huh?"

"Your girlfriend. I'm sure she's very pretty. Do you know her bra size?"

"Ahhh..."

"You don't know her measurements?"

The word "measurements" made Glenn's head spin. What kind of measurements did
a piece of magical ass like this girl have? What letter or letters of the
alphabet would be on the tag of a brassiere that could hold tits that huge? He
tried to clear his thoughts. He had no real girlfriend, but he needed to think
of somebody, fast. Who? For some reason Crystal was the first woman that came
to his mind, even though he'd just slept with Isabella.

"Ah, no, not exactly," he said. "She is very pretty, like you said. She's
petite Ñ only five feet tall Ñ and extremely, extremely fit. But I don't know
her exact measurements. She's sturdy, has a small waist and big, ah, breasts."

"Lucky you. How big?"

"Big, but not like... you know..." He glanced at the girl's exceptionally
grand endowments.

"Not as big as me?"

She crossed her hands at her waist, essentially lifting her mighty pair a
fraction with her forearms and deepening her already formidable cleavage.

"That's no surprise," she said, laughing softly. "I got about two tons more
than my share, I suppose."

She looked down at her breasts and a half-smile played at the corner of her
mouth. Was it her own satisfaction at having been blessed with such
magnificent mammaries, or was she holding in her laughter at knowing how Glenn
must be ready to explode?

"So, anyway, your girlfriend is petite, fit, and you really lucked out with
her figure. Now tell me how you'd like her to be with you on her birthday, in
bed I mean. Don't hold back because it's her special day and not yours. She'll
want you to be excited by her, so don't feel hesitant about choosing a present
that pleases you. What kind of present do you want out of this?"

For a moment he imagined Crystal in the quintessential French maid's outfit Ñ
black nylons with garters and the skimpiest little dress in the world, holding
a feather duster in her hand. Or forget the dress, maybe she would be in some
kind of bustier that accentuated her narrow waist while hoisting up her boobs
up while pressing them together. Or what about some kind of tiny jungle
outfit, with Crystal and her gorgeous, powerful body doing the Sheena thing?
More blood surged to his cock at that one. Crystal and all of those perfect
muscles showcased in primitive brown leather, her movements cat-like and the
call of the wild emanating from beneath an infinitesimal triangle of leather
that barely concealed her untamable pussy...

Then he remembered that he wanted to imagine himself getting it on with this
exquisite young woman, not his non-existent girlfriend. The situation couldn't
be more ideal, in a way. This girl was hotter than a volcano and she was
deliberately trying to attract his eyes towards her gargantuan tits, fully
expecting him to be forming mental pictures that would get him turned-on (and
that would loosen his hold on his money). Also, the two of them were alone for
the moment. He wasted no time and got to work, imagining that he dropped to
his knees in front of this girl, cupping her tight ass with both hands while
running his tongue up the skin of her right thigh. He saw his tongue probing
under her skirt, feeling her skimpy underwear. His hands would grasp the
waistline of her panties and lower them down her legs to the tops of her tall
boots, then his tongue would begin to explore her increasingly wet slit. He
looked at the color surrounding her. It was changing! There was more
yellow-orange mixed with the gold than he had seen a few moments before.
Heartened, he imagined raising his hands up to cup her huge breasts as he
continued to tongue the folds of her labia...

"Uh", she whispered, softly. "Uh, are you thinking of... of what you want?"
Her voice was softer and sexier than a moment ago.

"I most certainly am," he replied, half under his breath.

I want you, he thought. I want my tongue in your pussy and my hands all over
those mega-boobs of yours. In his mind he was still there on the floor,
exploring her gorgeous body. He brought a hand from her rear and let his
fingers work their way up her thigh until the tip of his index finger was
poised right there at the entrance to her hot, wet love-tunnel.

"Let me... I want to show you..."

She backed towards a rack of hanging red and black garments, never turning
from him. Her movements were uncertain and her face was flushed. She looked
nervous. Rattled. Excited? Her eyes were wide and she stared at him, yet her
gaze seemed to be largely unfocused. As her hand reached towards the rack of
clothing and she felt for some particular garment, he imagined that he
penetrated her with his index finger, feeling it surrounded by the hot, wet,
lust-slickened walls of her vagina.

"Uhh!", she cried, much more forcefully than before. The color of her glow
instantly intensified in its brilliance, going more towards the colors of
fire. It was happening, just as it had on the train! He was fucking this girl
with his mind!

A new look came into her eyes, and it settled right on his groin. He was hard
as a rock, and his cock had partially left the confines of his underwear,
creeping part-way down his thigh. It would be impossible for her to miss it.
She brought her hand back from the rack. She was clutching some kind of
garment made up of multiple straps, but she didn't look like she even knew
that it was there in her hand.

"W...what... is... your name?", she asked, her voice low and breathy.

"Glenn," he replied. He imagined licking his middle finger and inserting it
inside of her. With two fingers now in her pussy he could properly explore the
depths of her vaginal walls. He wiggled both fingers in his mind.

"OH! Ohhhhh..."

She dropped the forgotten thing from her hand. She looked deeply into his eyes
then, a sense of wonder there. Her childlike lips were parted, and light
glistened on the tip of her tongue. She looked stunned and radiant at the same
time. Some women, he knew, are even better-looking and more alluring when
overtaken by passion, and this girl was one of them. One of her hands crept
down towards her thighs while the other pressed against one of those huge
breasts. He wasn't sure whether she was aware of these obvious sexual gestures
or not. Her aura was glowing a bright orange now. He remembered that the same
color had appeared with the actress on the train, but then it had deepened
into red. Could he take this girl further?

"Glenn," she stated, a bit absently, "Do you... are you, um, happy... with
your girlfriend?"

He didn't answer. He needed to remain focused.

"Because I... Ohhhh... I could model this... Ohhhh, fuuuuuck..."

He changed his tempo in his mind, removing the girl's leather skirt
altogether, and then the gigantic fringed knocker-holster. She was standing
there before him in his imagination, wearing nothing but the tall, black
boots. Twirling her around with both hands, he rose and positioned himself
behind her. She bent forward at the waist and he cupped her enormous, dangling
breasts with his hands and probed at her drenched pussy with the tip of his
big cock. He imagined her begging him to enter her. Placing himself in
position, he thrust himself in, suddenly and forcefully burying himself to the
hilt. It was just a fantasy, but the effect on the sales girl could not have
been more instantaneous and obvious. She cried out sharply and loudly, and her
glow was just as quickly suffused with a color so hot and red that he thought
she might actually burst into flames right there in front of him. Her face,
frozen in an expression of stunned pleasure, was nearly as red as the
invisible color. A trembling hand reached out and she grabbed hold of the edge
of a nearby shelf, using it to keep from falling. Her mouth was wide open and
quivering and she was shaking all over. She looked like she might collapse at
any second.

Glenn was not completely certain of what was happening. Was she having an
orgasm, or several orgasms, or was she teetering there at the edge of one? Or
was something entirely different happening? He watched, transfixed, as the
color of her glow became brighter, whiter. She shut her eyes, but he doubted
that she would be able to see any of this anyway. For him, however, she was
glowing so brightly that he could no longer see the flashes of light around
her. They merged with her overall brilliance as she cried out, a helpless
whimpering cry unlike anything he'd ever heard before. She seemed ready to
collapse yet unable to move, her shaking legs and the muscles of her steadying
arm at war with the pull of gravity.

"Lauren? Are you okay?"

It was the other sales girl, the tall one, suddenly there at his side. She
looked extremely concerned. She asked Glenn, "What's the matter with her? What
happened?"

"I don't know. She was showing me that outfit and then she cried out. I... I
think we should sit her down."

The tall girl looked alarmed and then her eyes briefly rested on the bulge in
Glenn's pants. Her eyes widened and her hand reflexively covered her mouth.
She seemed immobilized, either through shock or uncertainty. In a moment she
appeared to come to some kind of decision.

"Amber?", she yelled. "Come here quick!"

Another woman, early-thirties and extremely attractive, rushed out from
somewhere and together the two women helped the trembling, half-frozen girl Ñ
Lauren, the other girl had called her Ñ into a back room. Glenn wondered what
he should do next. Run, probably, but he began to fear that he had actually
hurt the girl. Was that possible? Had he done harm to her with his little sex
experiment? What a state of affairs.

A moment later, "Amber" re-emerged and sought him out.

"Is she all right?", he asked.

"I think so. I think Lauren just... Honestly, I don't know. If I didn't know
better... Did you see it all happen?"

"Yes."

"Did she... The two of you couldn't have..."

He looked at her as though he had no idea of what she was insinuating. He had,
after all, never touched the girl.

"I'm sorry," she said. "It's a fault of mine, treating these girls like
they're my daughters or something."

Glenn nearly laughed out loud. Amber was about his age, he guessed, and there
was nothing about the woman that looked motherly. The store was probably hers,
she had that air of entrepreneurial savvy about her. And she, too, was an
excellent walking advertisement for the store's fashions. She was wearing a
tight leather bodice of some sort that laced up the front, the inside arcs of
both breasts open to the air. Below was a skirt even shorter than Lauren's,
fishnet stockings and heels as tall as skyscrapers. Her face was pretty and
unlined, every detail of her figure close to spectacular. While the woman's
boobs paled when compared to a super knock-out like Lauren, she was probably
something like a 36DD-24-35, with all of it distributed in an extremely
alluring manner.

She continued: "Maybe you could leave your name and number Ñ just in case
there's some problem later and a doctor needs to ask some questions."

Not good, he thought, especially if he really had done something to hurt the
girl. At the same time, if he'd harmed her in some way, maybe he should try to
help. Even without divulging what had actually happened (as if anyone would
believe him), he might be able to tell a doctor something that could be
useful. He owed her, Lauren, that much.

"Sure," he agreed. He could make it all easy by leaving a business card, but
he hesitated. No need to give out more information than needed. He wrote down
his name and home number on the back of a sales slip. Amber seemed to be
studying him in some way, looking at him curiously while he wrote. It made him
nervous.

"Did you see anything in the store that you wanted? Anything at all?"

"She... Lauren was about to show me something."

"I'd be happy to model anything that you like. I wouldn't do that for most
men, but for you..."

Glenn could imagine how great any of the store's merchandise would look on
this very sexy woman. It was not easy to do so, but he told her that he had to
be running along.

"Too bad. You really are a lovely man," she mused, her voice wistful. "Sorry,
I shouldn't have said that." She smiled nervously before continuing. "Don't
worry too much about Lauren. I really think she'll be fine. She was shaking
and couldn't speak, but she didn't look pained. In fact, she had a strange
kind of smile on her face."

Glenn could see that the woman wanted to keep talking to him, perhaps because
she was bored or just friendly, but maybe to find out what had happened
between him and Lauren. He left the store and walked west, and eventually
grabbed a seat near the back of an uptown bus. The rain had turned into a
steady drizzle, and he watched the bright colorful city lights and the glowing
people huddled under their umbrellas as the bus sped north. The living things
of the city looked even more pronounced at night. Their illumination, though,
did not appear to light up anything around them, nor was it reflected in the
puddles or the glistening sidewalk at their feet. It was like light from
another plane, there for him to see but not affecting anything. He wondered
what the night would look like somewhere out in the country. Everything,
fields and mountains and dark woods, would almost certainly be glowing a
bright gold. And what about fireflies? Would they have a steady glow for him,
accentuated by their more periodic light?

He saw a faint, green/blue reflection of his own face, minus the surrounding
glow, in the rain-speckled bus window. He looked like himself but he felt as
though he was looking at a stranger. Who had he become in the past couple of
days? He was changed, and now it appeared that his bigger cock might be the
least of it. He had just confirmed that he could make love to a few select
women without ever touching them physically. Had a bizarre sequence of events
turned him into some kind of virtual rapist? How intimate a connection did two
people form, he wondered, when they joined in this way? He thought of the
girl, Lauren, and the beautiful blond actress, whose name he had never
learned. He had touched them both, and yet they had not touched. Was this sex?
Technically, it didn't appear to fit the definition, but it sure had felt like
sex to him. For the women, too, it must have felt like sex.

He thought of Isabella, with whom he had ended his long dry spell of
companionless nights. Had her interest in him been the miracle that he had
thought, or were there other factors at play, his mind and his desires
directing her to respond to him as she had? Had he sent out signals that
ignited her glow, all invisible to him at the time? Had he fucked her with his
mind, as much as his body? And didn't women often complain that men were not
adept at foreplay, at taking the time to nurture passion, allowing it to build
like a carefully tended campfire? Imagine the possibilities now, he thought,
if Isabella returned and she did indeed have a sparkling aura. Imagine all of
the ways, now that he knew what was going on to some degree, that he could
play her body like a violin, even from across the room.

But would he even see Isabella again? Probably. The actress, though Ñ she was
probably lost forever. And Lauren Ñ well, he knew where she worked. How would
she greet him if he dropped by the store in a few days? Warmly? With fear and
distrust? It was impossible to know how their encounter had felt to her, how
much of a joy or violation it had been.

Shifting the focus of his eyes to the pane of glass beside him, he studied two
small streams of rain water as they formed trails down the bus window. They
were about two inches apart, but each trail curved in odd zigs and zags until
they merged and became one. A moment later, the bus hit a pothole and the
stream was again split in two. What were the chances that two paths, briefly
united, could come back together again? He wished he had the answer.