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