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Subject: SG4: Frisking The Cat - Part 2 (CR: 10,10,10)
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(continuing)


 I twisted and moaned, half asleep and half awake,

half remembering and half dreaming.
 I saw myself lying naked on the floor. I was
paralyzed from extreme pain and pleasure.
Scratches ran down
the length of my sides and my legs. My nipples
were sore
from being sucked. My breasts were bruised from so
much
squeezing. My pussy was bleeding, and Selina was
standing
over me with my blood all over her face. She
smiled at me.
My blood dripped from her long fangs.
 Andrew crawled beside her and licked the blood
from
her lips.  Then he turned his attention to me, and
bore into
me with a terrible glare,  yelling something that
didn't
make sense. It sounded like . . .
 . . . the doorbell. I sat up quickly and looked
around. I was in my bedroom, and the clock said 7
am.
Calvin was lying at the foot of my bed, looking up
at me.  I
was naked under the sheets. I wasn't bleeding or
bruised,
yet my heart was racing, and my pussy was wet with

excitement, ready for fucking again. What was
wrong with me?
Was I a slave to my sexuality?
 The doorbell buzzed again, this time longer and
more
insistently.
 "Just a second," I yelled. I slipped into a
bathrobe,
carelessly tossed on my wig, and floated
downstairs. I
paused at the bottom of the stairs when, looking
through the
door, I saw who was on the other side.
 *Shit!* It was Andrew. I hesitated. Why was he
here
so early in the morning? He knows I sleep in late.
He must
have known about last night. *Oh, Shit!*  What was
I gonna
say?
 "Open the door, Linda," he said impatiently from
the
other side.
 I unlatched the door and let him in.  He didn't
look
at me or say hello. He walked right past me into
the living
room to a hard wooden chair, sat down and told me
to do
likewise.
 I sat in a wooden chair facing him. I crossed my
legs
and covered myself as best I could with the
bathrobe.
 Andrew was very angry. He was so angry he
wouldn't
even look at me. He just stared at the ceiling,
collecting
himself. For almost a minute, he said nothing. The
suspense
was almost unbearable. Then he finally said,
"Guess what I
found in my mailbox about an hour ago."
 I shivered. "I don't know," I said, but I knew it

must have been bad.
 "A video tape," he spitted out, and then he
paused
and let the words sink in.
 I covered my face with my hands and couldn't
think of
anything to say, except, "Fuck!"
 "Exactly," Andrew replied. "What the fuck
happened?
What makes you feel worse? That you let Selina get
away, or
that there were still a few men that you didn't
fuck last
night?"
 "Stop it!" I said, a little shocked, a little
angry.
He didn't have the right to talk to me that way. I
didn't
even think he was capable of talking that way.
"It's not
like I had a choice. She *made* me do it!"
 "That's not the way it looked on the tape,"
Andrew
said. "You didn't even try to stop them."
 "I couldn't! She threatened to kill the security
guards if I didn't do what she wanted," I told
him, but not
convincingly. It was the truth, but it felt like a
lie. It
was just a convenient excuse.
 Even so, it surprised Andrew, and he lowered his
tone. "What do you mean?"
 "Weren't you listening? That's what she said."
 Andrew shook his head, "The tape didn't have
sound,
just visual. But what security guards? There were
no
security guards. And there was no bomb."
 "I thought they were guards. They looked like
guards.
I didn't know they were just her friends. And I
thought
maybe the bomb was hidden, maybe in lead." I said,
clinging
to my excuse, no matter how lame it seemed, no
matter how
much I might have even enjoyed last night, it
wasn't
something I chose to do.
 Andrew shook his head.  "So you just let them all

fuck you. With all of your powers, you could have
done
*something!*"
 "Like what?"
 "I don't know! You might have tried to threaten
her.
You might have at least objected, instead of
begging for
more. You are going to make me look really bad,
when I have
to show this tape to the agency. How can I justify
hiring
you now? What do we do if she makes this tape
public?"
 I shuddered at the thought. "I'm sorry. I didn't
want
to let you down."
 "And what was all this crap about the t-shirt and
the
shorts? How did they get your costume?"
 "They stole it from me a few days ago on the
train. I
didn't know who they were then," I said, hoping he
wouldn't
press for details.
 "They stole it from you?" Andrew was surprised
and
more than a little confused.
 I just nodded, expecting to be grilled. *Please
don't
push me*, I wished. I knew if he pushed, I'd have
to tell
him the truth about that train ride. I was a
terrible liar.
 "And when were you gonna share this information
with
me? I thought we were on the same team."
 "So did I," I replied, remembering Selina's last
words before she left. I was grateful to turn the
blame back
on him. "When were *you* gonna tell *me* about
your
connection with Selina?"
 "My connection . . .?" Andrew paused as if hit
from
out of nowhere. "I didn't think that mattered. It
was need-
to-know information only."
 "I think I needed to know. Last night . . . the
museum . . . it was all a trap. They knew I was
coming. They
knew you were sending me," I said angrily,
fighting my way
out of the corner of blame. "She told me to tell
you that,
like always, she was one step ahead of you."
 Andrew looked shocked. He stood up and looked
around
the apartment. He closed the blind to the window,
then he
examined the lamps and the furniture, until he
found a thin
wire emerging from a hole in the rug and
disappearing into
the sofa. He tore it loose with much more force
than was
necessary. "That bitch!"
 "So what is this all about?" I pushed, more
curious
than angry, now that I was no longer in the hot
seat.
 Andrew shook his head and looked away. "I hired
her
to work for the agency several months ago."
 "You did what?  You hired a criminal? What for?"
 "To help us get close to the major players in
Gotham
City. It made sense at the time. She had contacts
we could
never have. I thought she'd make a great double
agent. We
had a second agent watching her from the other
side, in case
she decided to betray us." Andrew shook his head,
and either
laughed or sighed. Despite his anger, he half
smiled in
amazement. "We never expected that she'd betray
both sides."
 "What did she do?" I asked. "I mean, it must have

been something pretty awful."
 Andrew glared at me and said, "I don't think you
need
to know any more."
 "Why? Was it something personal?" I asked,
stepping
closer.
 "Never mind. It doesn't matter. Let's just say we

both have good reasons to get her now."
 So it *was* personal! My mind fluttered with
ideas of
what it might have been. Did she steal from him?
Were they
lovers?
 Andrew walked away from me, as if he was afraid I

might ask these questions. He walked straight for
the door,
and then he half turned towards me, saying, "We
can't let
her get away with this.  I'll contact you
tonight."
 "So you still want me to work with you?" I asked,

barely believing it.
 He nodded. "Sure, and you can keep the video
tape. I
made copies before I left."
 I watched him leave, wondering and worrying what
he
meant by that.

 I laid on the couch, trying to catch up on some
of
the sleep I had lost that morning, but I was too
anxious. I
stared unseeing at the television, instead,
feeling confused
and ashamed and afraid. And then, as my mind
awakened, I
began to feel angry.
 I guess I can be pretty dense sometimes. Anyone
would
have known what he meant by that, except me. Maybe
I knew
what he meant all along, but it took a while for
me to
believe the obvious.
 I liked Andrew ever since I had met him, and I
thought that he liked me, too, even when he had
trapped me,
even when he spied on me. If I like a man, I can
look past
ten flaws to the one wonderful thing about him.
Andrew
trapped me, but then he let me go. He would spy on
me, but
then he'd apologize, saying sometimes he hated his
job, but
he had to do it. He'd talk to me for days like he
was my
best friend. I thought he had a weakness for me. I
thought
maybe part of him secretly loved me.
 Even if it were true, he still wanted to keep me
on a
leash. That video tape was a leash, and he could
use it to
keep me in line. He saw what happened when he let
me loose,
like at the museum. He was angry at me, like a
master would
be angry at a pet for pooping on the floor. He
wouldn't let
me loose again.
 He was even angrier at the Catwoman. It wasn't
just
the anger he might have towards just any criminal.
She was
like a disobedient pet. She was the pet that
scratched up
his prized possessions. She was the pet that
knocked the
vase off of the mantel. She was the pet that ran
away.
 And I was the pet that would pay the price. I
hated
being a part of his control games.
 As these thoughts of pets and cats haunted my
mind, I
thought about Calvin, and how I hadn't seen him at
all since
Andrew left. Usually when I'm lying on the couch,
Calvin
will leap up and cuddle with me, purring and
demanding
attention, making me feel better, but when I
looked for him
now, I saw him crouching in the corner.
 "What's the matter, Calvin?" I asked. "Did that
big,
bad man scare you?"
 He just stared at me, as though I was the
stranger,
not Andrew.
 I waited for a minute, just watching him,
wondering
what was wrong. He didn't look hurt, yet he just
eyed me
suspiciously and kept his distance. I forgot about
Andrew
and Selina and the anger I was feeling, as I
watched Calvin,
His distrust made me feel lonely and rejected. Sad
to say,
Calvin was my best friend, and he had always loved
me
unconditionally. Until now, anyway.
 Finally, Calvin stood up, stretched and said,
"Meow".
He leaped onto the couch. He rubbed his head
against my
belly. When I stroked his neck and back, he arched
into my
hand and purred.
 "That's a good boy!" I whispered, as I rubbed his

neck and back.  I sheltered him and consoled him
like I
wished someone would do for me. I treated him like
a pet
should be treated. . .
 Not that I wanted for Andrew to treat me like a
pet.
I worked for him, and I only wanted for him to
treat me with
the respect an employer should have for his
employees.
Employees should be respected, and pets should be
loved. No
matter how he thought of me, he wasn't treating me
right. He
was using me, and I didn't want to be used
anymore.
 My eye twitched and I felt my whole body shiver,
when
I had a shameful realization: I've let people use
me for
most of my life. Even worse, I think I *wanted*
people to
use me, to take control of me. Carol loved to play
with my
emotions, and I loved the games she played. My
father was
very stern, and sometimes I think I earned his
love by
always doing as I was told. I can barely even
think about
what I let happen with Sam, and I virtually begged
Selina to
do whatever she wanted with me.  No wonder people
didn't
respect me. I was pretty pathetic!
 *I won't let anyone do that to me again!* My mind

screamed in anger and shame and disgust.  *Not
Andrew, not
anyone!*
 Just then, Calvin clawed his way from my arms and

disappeared in the corner, again. He wouldn't even
look out
from behind the chair. I hadn't seen him so scared
since. .
. well, since he was Sam's pet three years ago.
 What happened? Maybe I let my anger get the best
of
me, and I squeezed him a little too tight. Maybe I
pet him
too hard.
 No, that wasn't it.  I was angry, and maybe I
wasn't
being affectionate, but I was very gentle. I
didn't even rub
him the wrong way. I kept my ugly emotions inside,
showing
him only kindness, so unless he could read my mind
. . .

 . . .  read my mind! How could I have gone almost

four years on Earth without realizing it? I guess
I would
have realized it earlier if I could read other
people's (or
cat's) minds. Discovering my other powers was
easy. I
couldn't miss floating down a flight of stairs, or
crushing
a telephone in my hand, or seeing through the
walls of my
dorm room.  But how could I have guessed that I
was sending
psychic signals out?
 I closed my eyes, breathed in deeply, imagining
that
my body smelled like catnip and it felt like a
warm, soft
spot in the sunlight.
 A moment later, Calvin jumped back on the sofa
and
nuzzled against my belly.
 I smiled, now knowing that I was right. Calvin
had
read my mind.
 I closed my eyes again and imagined a familiar
field
with bushes and trees and small mice scurrying
through the
grass and darting into holes in the ground.
 Calvin looked quickly up at me, and then around
the
apartment. He leaped from the sofa and onto the
window sill.
He stared outside, looking for mice to chase.
 I closed my eyes again and thought of a giant
Rottweiler, staring at Calvin, foaming at the
mouth, and
barking like thunder.
 Calvin spun around in panic, fell from the window

sill and disappeared under the sofa, as deeply
hidden as he
could get.
 Why did I do that? I covered my face, laughing in

shame and amazement.
 I looked under the sofa and saw Calvin staring
suspiciously back at me.  "I'm sorry Calvin. That
was very
mean of me."
 I felt really guilty for scaring him like that,
betraying his trust. The funny thing was that I
was still
smiling, and not in a nice way. I was so amazed by
how
quickly the predator had become the prey.

 I hadn't walked the pathways of Metropolis
University
since I graduated several months ago, but I
thought there
was no better place to experiment with my newly
discovered
power. After all, everyone played mind games
there,  it
seemed. When I was a student, I played them, too.
I had been
hungry for friends, until I learned that with a
little
teasing in my short skirts and tight t-shirts, I
would have
as many friends as I could handle.
 Just rummaging through my old school clothes made
me
shiver in excitement. I put on a one piece gold
colored
dress, with a matching gold jacket and gold shoes.
Mary once
told me that the gold highlighted my long brown
hair. She
had much better fashion sense than I did, so I
believed her.
 As provocative as my work wardrobe was, my school

clothes were twice that. The jacket completely
covered my
breasts, encouraging curious eyes to either look
in my eyes
-- or travel south. The dress ended in a
microskirt that
barely covered my ass and fell less than an inch
below my
pussy. Unlike the red skirt of my Supergirl
costume, this
skirt was form fitting, clinging to my ass.
 Even so, I didn't call very much attention to
myself,
because roughly half of the women on campus were
dressed
similarly. The rule among college girls, it
seemed, was to
dress to the extreme while still being legally
decent.
 Right now, brightly colored tights seemed to be
in
fashion. I walked past one woman who was wearing
purple from
head to toe. She reminded me very much of how
Selina looked
in the museum, except this college girl's tights
were not
see through -- at least to ordinary eyes. She
pushed the
limits by shaving her pussy and wearing nothing
under her
tights, so the shape of her pussy lips were
clearly visible,
as if the tights were a second skin. I admired
that.
 We were both pushing the limits, really, but she
was
getting more looks than I was.  I could steal some
of her
attention by just reaching down to pick up a pen
-- I might
even get the police's attention. But without
breaking the
rules, I couldn't compete.
 Miniskirts were falling out of fashion.  The
skirt
flirt has lost some of it's mystery, because
everyone knew
that most women were completely decent
underneath.  Tights
gave men more too look at, but left less for their

imagination or anticipation, so I knew that some
day soon,
miniskirts would come back.
 Men just needed to start believing again. They
were
tired of watching a closed cookie jar, just in
case it might
open. They were tired of the promise of paradise,
but no
sign of it. They wanted a glimmer of hope, like a
mirage in
the horizon, or a rumor of a sighting, just to
keep their
faith alive.
 And then I smiled as I realized I could give them

exactly what they wanted.
 I paused for a moment at a crossroads, letting
people
pass around me, and I concentrated on my
appearance. I
thought especially hard about my miniskirt,
imagining that
it was two inches shorter. I imagined that my
pussy lips
were barely visible to people walking by. They
were just a
hint of pink below the gold hemline.
 When I opened my eyes, half of the people within
thirty yards were staring at me. Maybe they were
just
staring at the weirdo who stopped in the middle of
traffic
with her eyes closed, I thought, so I started
walking again,
and sure enough, they were still looking, eyes
slightly
down, following my ass.
 This time, with my eyes opened, I concentrated on
my
leg, and I imagined that a drop of pussy juice was
rolling
down my thigh, glistening in the sunlight.
 And wow! What a reaction! I felt everyone's eyes
on
me now, and a few men were even following close
behind.
 Then, as I emerged from the shadow of a building,
I
walked into a cool breeze that sent a chill over
my body,
between my legs, and over my thighs. That's when I
felt the
moisture -- the tracks of two *real* droplets that
had
settled behind my knee. I was having so much fun
imagining
that I didn't know how real my fantasy was. My
pussy was
overflowing.
 *Oh, God!*  I thought, in shame, and I walked
quickly
now. Embarrassment brought more excitement, and
more
evidence. At least I was walking too fast now for
people to
see. I hurried into the Mulligan Social Science
Hall, and
found a deserted corner, where I paused to collect
myself.
 This is becoming a habit, I thought to myself as
I
wiped my legs clean. I keep getting myself into
these kinds
of situations.   I want to be a good girl. I want
to be a
bad girl.  I want to do the right things -- but I
want to
break all the rules, and I don't want to be
caught. Or do I?
God, I'm messed up. I need to see a shrink.
 Which, in a way, is why I was here.

 "Linda!" Pamela shouted in surprise. She emerged
from
behind her desk to greet me. She was wearing one
of those
fashionable skin tight suits, and I felt a little
more
comfortable.  She wouldn't give me those silly
Freudian
comments, like "penis envy" or like connecting my
desires to
the death of my father. She was a good-bad girl
herself.
Besides, she was into much more unorthodox
theories.
 "Hi Pam," I said, as I wrote my name down on the
sign-in sheet. "Not much of a crowd here."
 She shook her head, and glanced away. "Nope, I
think
I started about twenty years too late. It was a
stupid idea
for a thesis, really. People just laugh when you
say "ESP"
today. The only people who come in are religious
freaks who
think I'm some kind of witch, and students who are
desperate
for extra credit. Why are *you* here?"
 "Well, I'm not a religious freak, so I must be
looking for extra credit, and I thought it would
be kewl to
get it from an old friend."
 Pam looked at me funny. "I thought you
graduated."
 I shook my head, "Almost. I had an incomplete on
a
psych course, and I have to make it up."
 Pam looked skeptical, but she wouldn't call me a
liar. Why would I lie, anyway? Just to see what I
could get
away with, of course.
 "Oh," she said. "So . . . are those the only
reasons?"
 I shrugged. I think she probably asked everyone
who
walked through her door about their motivations,
but it had
a special meaning for me.
 A few years ago, when we were both undergrads,
Pam
had asked me maybe ten times to do ESP experiments
with her,
and I always refused. People talked about her
behind her
back, calling her a flake, and I didn't want to be
a part of
that.
 But more importantly, she had a reputation as a
lesbian, and I was strictly hetero back then. I
didn't want
to be a part of her lesbian fantasies. I always
suspected
that the ESP experiments were just a scheme to get
me in
bed.
 But I underestimated Pam's devotion to ESP. She
always hoped to do real research on the topic, and
finally
she had the chance as a graduate student.
 "I thought you didn't believe in this stuff,
Linda,"
Pam said, maybe feeling used, because I would do
this for
extra credit, but not just to be a good friend.
 "I'm sorry, Pam. I guess I didn't have a very
open
mind back then. It just seemed so ... crazy, but
I'm
thinking now: if people can fly or turn invisible,
anything
is possible, right?"
 "I never thought of it that way," Pam said, less
angry. "But you may have been right before. We've
tested
hundreds of people, and haven't found a single
hint of
psychic ability in anyone. I don't know why I even
do it
anymore, and I feel like I'm just going through
the motions,
now."
 "Well, let's go through the motions again," I
said,
with a smile. "You never know when the right
person will
come along."

 Pam introduced me to her creation:  a kind of
isolation booth for two people designed to keep
out all
noise and external stimuli, fascillitating psychic

stimulation -- or so Pam says. To me it looked
like one of
those confessionals that Catholics use. It even
had the
slide-away door inside. If I could read Pam's
mind, I'm sure
I'd find out that she bought it from an old
church.
 But I couldn't read her mind, as part one of her
test
bore out.
 Pam read silently from a passage in a book, and
asked
me what she had just read.
 "Something about disciplining pets?" I asked.
 "Huh? Uh, no. Just relax. Try to clear your
mind,"
Pam said.
 Next she stared at a series of photographs and
asked
me what she was looking at.
 "Two women torturing a man?" I asked.
 "What?" Pam laughed. "No, it's just a picture of
a
chair. They are very simple pictures, Linda. Just
one
object."
 Then she told me that she was thinking of a part
of
her body -- that this somehow tested emotional
signals.
 "Your nose?"
 "No," Pam replied, barely hiding her frustration.
"I
was thinking of my belly button."
 "Oh, I knew it was something with an opening."
 "Common, Linda, I know it sounds silly, but
please
take this seriously," she said as she turned off
the light
on her side of the booth. A moment later, my side
lit up.
"Your turn now. We are pretty sure that you aren't
a
receiver, so lets see if you are a transmitter.
Remember,
try to think only about the objects in your hand.
The
passage first . . ."
 I licked my lips, as I picked up a sealed envelop
and
opened it. I read silently:
 "The long playing record has withstood many
challenges throughout the twentieth century,
starting with
wire recorders in the 1920's and then more serious

challenges with magnetic tape technology,
including reel-to-
reel, 8-Track, and cassette tapes. Vinyl did not
lose it's
market until the advent of digitized sound,
starting in the
1980's."
 "OK," I said, and then yawned. "What did I read?"

 Pam paused, then asked: "Something boring?"
 "Yeah . . .?" I said. "What else?"
 "Something about car tires?"
 Huh? Car tires?  "No, let me read it again," I
said
and tried to concentrate very hard on what I was
reading.
"OK, I'm done."
 Pam paused, then finally guessed, almost
desperately,
"A chocolate donut?"
 "No," I said, feeling defeated. "The passage was
about phonograph records."
 I was stunned. I had assumed she'd be able to
read my
mind -- I never even considered the possibility of
failure.
Had I just imagined having the power? What about
my
experiments with Calvin? Maybe I could only
communicate with
animals. What about the students on campus? Maybe
they were
just responding to my clothes and my attitude and
the
excitement running down my legs-- not to what I
was
thinking.
 "Hey," Pam said, with a touch of enthusiasm,
"that's
really not so far off. I mean, they are all round
objects
with holes. Try the pictures, next."
 I halfheartedly picked up the first photo.  It
was a
picture of a red pickup truck, driving through a
field.
 "A car," Pam instantly said. "No, a truck. Red,
and a
lot of grass."
 I gasped, suddenly awake again.
 "Well?" Pam asked.
 "You got it! Dead on!"
 "No way!" she said, trying to contain her
excitement.
Surely I must have been joking with her ...
 "Really, here, look," I said, holding the picture
up
to where she could see.
 Her eyes sparkled, but still she wouldn't let
herself
believe. "Try the next picture."
 Picture #2  was the Statue of Liberty, which
immediately reminded me of Carol.
 "A dark haired woman," Pam said. "No, not a
woman. A
statue. The Statue of Liberty?"
 I showed her the picture, and she almost squealed
in
delight. "Oh, finally! Finally, we have proof! A
real
transmitter! Try the next picture."
 I was very excited, too, but a warning bell went
off
in my head. What did Pam mean by proof? Was she
gonna hold
me up as an example? Would she tell everyone about
me? If an
enemy knew he could read my mind, my power would
become his
power, and he could use it against me. I had to
kill the
experiment right now.
 I didn't look at the next picture. I closed my
eyes
and imagined a candle stick.
 "A candle?" Pam asked.
 I shook my head and showed her a picture of a
grandfather clock.
 "Oh." Pam shrugged, but was still enthusiastic.
"Just
a fluke. Try the next one."
 I closed my eyes and imagined myself giving Pam a

massage. I moved my hands under the towels, around
her
breasts. Then I rolled her over and sucked on her
nipples.
 Pam paused, and when she spoke, she sounded
embarrassed. "A, uh, massage parlor?"
 "What?" I asked, laughing and sounding as
innocent as
I could. I showed her the picture of a personal
computer.
 "Damn," Pam said."The statue and the truck
couldn't
have just been a coincidence. Try the body part
test. Just
try and relax and think only about that one body
part."
 I closed my eyes and focused my thoughts on my
pussy.
I touched myself with a finger, parting the lips,
starting
the flow.
 Pam didn't say anything.
 I slowly massaged my clit, imaging that my finger
was
her finger. I slipped another finger under the
folds and
pushed in deep. I hoped my excitement didn't show
in my
face.
 Pam still said nothing.
 I looked through the wall between us, and saw
that
Pam was shifting in her seat.  She was wet, too. I
could
smell her excitement.
 "Well?" I asked. "What part of my body am I
thinking
of?"
 Pam finally burst out, not wanting to say it, but
she
probably couldn't think of any other body part at
this
point. "Your pus --, uh, your genitals?"
 "What?" I asked, trying to sound upset.
 "Oh, I'm sorry Linda, I don't know why I thought
of
that."
 "Really, Pam . . ."
 "Try one more picture, please! I know we had some

kind of connection."
 "OK," I closed my eyes and imagined that I was
kneeling between Pam's legs, sucking on her clit
and
squeezing her ass. She was twisting my hair in her
hands and
screaming out Linda, Oh Linda...
 "Linda ..."  Pam whispered. She was breathing
heavily
now, and her face was almost red.
 "Yes, Pam? What was the picture?"
 "A woman licking..." Pam said, then took a
breath, "I
mean two women having oral sex."
 Denying my own needs, I rushed out of the
confessional as if in rage. Pam stumbled out
behind me. I
thought for a second that she might try to kiss me
-- she
was so excited. I don't know what I would have
done if she
had kissed me. But she collected herself and said,
"I'm
really sorry Linda. I don't know why I said those
things."
 "Well, I do," I replied. "And I'm sorry, Pam, but
I'm
not looking for a lover right now."
 "Maybe you are right," Pam said, looking totally
confused. "Maybe I was just seeing what I wanted
to see. But
please keep me in mind ... when you need a
friend."
 "OK," I said, thinking I might just take her up
on
that offer someday. I turned towards the door.
"Bye, Pam."
 "But Linda ... what about the extra credit?"
 I smiled at her, which must have confused her
even
more, and said, "That's OK. I've decided to go for
the full
course, instead.."

 *Oh, that was so MEAN, Linda!* that voice called
a
conscience said.
 I smiled. *Fuck that, it was fun! Stop second
guessing yourself, girl. The world is yours, if
you want it.
It's a good day to be Supergirl!.*
 Why did I always feel that when I was having fun,
I
was losing control?
 I looked left and right as I left the Social
Science
building. A thousand students were walking around,
but no
one seemed to be watching me. They will be
watching soon, I
thought, as I removed my wig and put it in my
purse.
 People lose control when they always do what
society
wants, when they always do what someone else
wants, when
they never do what they want.
 Pam should have done what she wanted.
 I kicked off my shoes. One of them took off like
a
rocket and landed on the roof of the cafeteria. A
man
walking nearby stopped dead in his tracks, and
stared at me
in awe. I smiled, blushing, "Oops!"
 I walked on the lawn along the sidewalk, feeling
the
grass between my toes. I had never done that
before, even
though my feet had begged me to for years. Why
didn't I just
do what I wanted? Who would it have hurt?
 Now many people were watching me. Was it really
so
strange to see someone walking barefoot? Or maybe
they were
seeing into my mind, anticipating.
 I slipped out of my jacket and dropped it on the
ground, and kept on walking. *Litterbug*,
complained my
conscience. *Don't be silly -- it's gonna make a
good
souvenir for someone.*
 My skin tingled from the cool air and the
awareness
that a thousand eyes were watching me. A thousand
imaginations were seeing my thoughts.
 So they weren't surprised when I lifted my shirt
over
my head. I tossed it high in the air. No one saw
it land.
They were watching my breasts jiggling back into
place,
finally free of that tight shirt. They were
staring at my
nipples, triggering that longing to suck, that
everyone is
born with, and no one quite completely forgets. I
was sorry
that I had only two nipples for this multitude.
 My conscience screamed, but the voice just didn't

bother me, anymore. Why should I be modest when
everyone can
see what I'm thinking, anyway? Wherever I go, they
are
sharing my fantasies, and I never even knew it . .

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