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                 K R I S T E N' S    C O L L E C T I O N
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--------------------------------------------------------
Copyright 1997 by Lysander (lysander@bitsmart.com) This 
story may not be archived at any site that would charge 
for access to it. This story may not be sold as part of 
any collection that charges more than a nominal copying 
fee. Otherwise, this story may be distributed freely by 
electronic means as long as the title, my pseudonym and 
this copyright statement are not changed or removed.
--------------------------------------------------------

She Invited Me to Fuck Her Over the Net
by Lysander (lysander@bitsmart.com)

***

A man with an unusual ability to control minds, but when 
he finds that he can manipulate inanimate objects, like 
computer porn on his computer screen, well, that is 
really unusual. (MF, mc, humor)

***

If you're ever sitting in the airport waiting for a 
plane, or sitting on a subway or bus or sitting in a 
bar, and you feel a little tickle or tingle on your 
clit, maybe it's just a trick of your circulation. Or 
maybe not. Look around and if you see an average-looking 
guy with a mole on the right side of his neck, 
scratching his finger on his seat or one next to him, 
then you see him give you a wave. It's probably me 
you're seeing. And if you don't mind my little 'hobby', 
mouth the word "Thanks," and if you do, the mouthed word 
"No" works pretty good.

I don't know how I got to be the way I am. I wasn't hit 
by lightning and I didn't down some weird chemicals. I 
didn't even subject myself to massive amounts of gamma 
radiation. Puberty was pretty normal for me and I've 
never had a concussion. All I know is that one day I was 
looking for my keys, but they didn't seem to be anywhere 
in my apartment. So I was doing all the usual shit, 
retracing my steps, looking in the same place two or 
three times, like that. 

Anyway, I put my hand in my pocket again, just in case I 
missed them the first time and I almost -- but didn't 
quite feel them. Like I was feeling the ghost of them or 
maybe I was feeling them wrapped in cotton. And I could 
not-quite-feel more metal around them, in a cylindrical 
shape. On a hunch, I opened the apartment door and there 
they were, sticking out of the doorknob.

Weird, huh?

Then, another time I bought an alarm clock at K-mart. I 
paid for it with a fifty and got a twenty back with my 
change. I could feel that twenty vibrating and pulling 
me, even through my wallet. Or maybe it wasn't a pull. 
Maybe it was more like when you wet your finger and hold 
it up to feel which way the breeze is blowing. I felt 
that twenty guiding me. I followed the pushing and 
pulling of that bill for about five miles, turning left, 
then right, then left, following a more or less diagonal 
path from the store until I found myself outside a 
suburban split-level with a boy of about twelve playing 
with a Tonka dump-truck on the sidewalk. 

The boy would push the little truck as hard as he could 
up the sidewalk, then run and chase after it, then push 
it back in the other direction. I could feel the bill in 
my wallet trying to follow him, tugging one way and then 
pushing the other. I got out of my car and said hello to 
him. Naturally he was a little wary of me, since I was a 
stranger, but it was probably his house he was in front 
of and being on his own turf gave him a enough courage 
to talk to me. I asked him where he got the truck. He 
said he'd bought it at the K-mart earlier that day.

"You mean your mom and dad bought it for you?"

"No, I bought it myself. My gramma sent me twenty 
dollars for my birthday last month."

No shit. The same twenty-dollar bill I had in my wallet, 
I bet.

As an experiment, I took that twenty out of the money 
compartment of my wallet and put it behind my driver's 
license, so I wouldn't accidentally spend it. For a week 
or so, I could feel every move that kid made. Mostly to 
school and back, I assume. But over time, the feeling 
went away. When I couldn't feel him anymore, I spent the 
twenty on a carton of Salems. As I left the store, I 
could feel the twenty pulling on me. Later in the day, I 
felt it moving. That night, I followed the tugging of 
the bill until I was sitting in my car outside a bank.

So I went home and had a long think. I went over every 
possibility and none of them made sense. So I went over 
every impossibility until I thought I had an answer. I'm 
not going to tell you what the answer is but you can 
probably figure it out. Thing is though, it didn't work 
out when I tried it again. I knew I hadn't imagined that 
week when that twenty had been tugging on me, trying to 
get back to the boy, or when it was calling me to the 
bank. So, it was real and it worked for a long time but 
then it didn't work anymore after I doped out a reason.

So from then on, every time a new ability crops up, I 
don't wonder about it too much. Maybe it's the thinking 
that kills it. I hear Plato said that all the planets 
and stars were set on big crystal balls inside each 
other and the earth was in the center of all these 
balls. Then this guy Newton looked up in the sky and 
thought about it and said bullshit. Maybe Plato was 
right until Newton came along. 

Maybe Newton busted Plato's balls. All I know is, as 
long as I don't think about it too much, I can feel how 
many eggs are cracked in a carton at the supermarket, I 
can tell how many people are on a given floor of a 
building, I can read the graffiti scratched on a 
bathroom stall even when it's been painted over, and 
I've never lost my keys again.

Oh yeah, and I can tickle women's clits from across the 
room.

Well, not exactly from across the room. I have to be in 
contact with the same kind of seat she's on, and I have 
to be able to see her. So if a woman is sitting on a 
barstool and I'm at a table, I can't touch her. And all 
I can do is tickle her. I tried pinching an ass once and 
it gave me a headache. Don't know why, don't want to 
know why. 

I can't really make a woman cum that way. If I'm sitting 
on the same seat as her, I can sometimes. I was at a 
wedding once, and there was a pretty woman on the same 
pew as me. I diddled my finger on the empty space beside 
me for a few minutes. It didn't take long for her to 
turn beet-red and give a little shiver, then slump down 
a little on the pew. That was fun. So are high school 
football games, but then I can never tell if a woman is 
getting excited because of me or because of the score. 

Mostly, all I can do is give a little tickle. I can't 
even really feel what I'm tickling. It's like with the 
keys; almost like I can feel the shadow of a pussy. But 
it's fun anyhow.

But, this whole Internet thing has opened up a whole new 
world for me. By now everybody and his mother knows what 
spam is. Most of it, I hate as much as the next person. 
But this one time I tried out an offer for 5 minutes of 
free "sex" on the net. You know, it's like phone sex 
except you can see the girl. You can ask her to pose how 
you want and whatnot and she does it, but they charge a 
god-awful amount of money. I never saw much worth to it, 
but daddy always told me to never turn down a free meal.

So I'm at this site, looking at really annoying video of 
a girl. I type in that I want to see her tits and she 
takes off her bikini top, but the picture's real choppy, 
like an intermittent satellite feed. I type that I want 
to see her snatch. Off come the bottoms. How about some 
pink? She sits down on a couch and spreads her legs. 

The picture quality's so lousy I can't really see her 
slit. All I can make out is the fact that she's shaved 
her lips. It's just one solid band of cafe au lait 
beneath a black triangle. I ask for a zoom-in. No can 
do, they tell me. So I reach out with my index finger to 
see if maybe I can clear my screen up a little bit.

My finger went *into* the screen. I am not making this 
up. I watched it sink through the picture tube. I 
couldn't see it inside the monitor's guts, but what I 
felt nearly gave me a heart attack. I can feel flesh. 
Warm, living, honest-to-God flesh. 

And the real kicker is I can feel stubble. I move my 
finger back and forth a little, hoping I don't run into 
a nose. Nope, I'm touching pussy, the pussy of the girl 
I'm typing to over the net.

"Holy shit!" is right. This was way better than the 
clit-tickling. I could feel her pussy like she was 
sitting right in front of me with my hand between her 
thighs. I slipped my finger between her lips. She was 
pretty dry of course. After all, she's in some little 
room with a camera pointed at her and somebody sitting 
at a terminal telling her what the jerk-off at the other 
end of the line wants her to do. But no doubt about it, 
it's pussy I got my finger in.

The weird thing is, I don't detect a reaction from her 
on the screen. I type in, one-handed of course, that I 
want her to turn over on her knees. She brings her legs 
together and sort of swivels on her butt and rolls onto 
her knees, I guess so she can stay in the camera frame. 
But I can feel her slit rotate around my finger. So I 
can feel her but she can't feel me. How come? I don't 
know, I don't want to know.

I hear a tone from my computer and see a message saying 
my time is up and would I like to pay the fee to join 
the site? I jerk my finger out of the monitor real 
quick. After all, I don't know if, when the connection 
breaks, it's going to take my finger with it.

Did I join the site? Hell, yes I did. And I paid for the 
Gold membership where I get thirty minutes a day and the 
girls masturbate for me because I figure they might get 
a little wetter that way. The very next day, I went out 
and bought a 21-inch monitor and arranged for an ISDN 
line. I could've saved myself some money, though. Those 
extra inches don't seem to make any difference, but with 
the ISDN, it actually feels *better* than real when I 
put my dick up to the screen and sink it into a warm 
pussy. 

Of course, I can't get a blowjob this way, and trying to 
butt-fuck one of the girls gave me a worse headache than 
the ass-pinching episode. The girl can't feel me and I 
can't feel her with anything but my cock, since I have 
to use both hands to hold the monitor. And I don't have 
to worry about disease. 

In fact, the only thing I do worry about is whether the 
inside of my monitor is getting coated with dried cum. 

But like I say: I don't know, I don't want to know.

END

(For those who've never heard of it, Treet is a canned 
meat-like product similar to Spam, made from beef and 
beef-products. -L)

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Please keep this story, and all erotic stories out of
the hands of children. They should be outside playing
in the sunshine, not thinking about adult situations.

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Kristen's collection - Directory 69