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From: Vivian Darkbloom <vdkblm-OBLITERATE-SPAM!@yahoo.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Jasmin (part V)
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Date: Thu,  9 Sep 2004 07:10:02 -0400
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  To more fully enjoy this story in living, breathing HTML,
  please visit our website at:

  http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/VivianDarkbloom/www/

  Please also note that there is now a preface, to explain
  the codes.  I removed some of the codes, having realized
  that they pertained to events which did not actually occur
  in my imagination, but which I only imagined had occurred.

  The story's almost done... one more chapter to go.


  ~~Vivian

  --------------------------------------------------------




                             Jasmin (part V)

                          by Vivian Darkbloom

   To be honest, we didn't get around to strolling in the park
   immediately. In fact, it took sort of a while. I realize, we were
   supposed to get there in the last chapter, but sometimes these
   things take longer than one plans.

   It started when she lay down on the bed, and made motions as if
   to take a short little nap. Drained by the heat, I thought maybe
   it wouldn't be such a bad idea, so I joined her.

   Then we started with a couple of little kisses. They kind of
   added up, a little, and soon there were a lot of pretty intense
   kisses, with some other fun stuff thrown in. Then the clothes
   kind of fell off (because it was so hot, you know). Soon we were
   having full-on passionate sex.

   Funny thing was, how drained we had both been feeling, like we
   just had to lie down, and then soon we're letting loose enough
   energy to power a dozen cities.

   As we were lying there afterwards, in cozy cuddling mode, it got
   me to thinking how much I really care for this girl, and worrying
   about how I would cope if something terrible were to happen to
   her, or we had to separate, and so on. Ah, the blissful ecstasy
   of being in love.

   By then we were both pretty hungry (I turned down the offer to
   share some of her candy), so eventually we both dragged ourselves
   out of bed and pulled on enough to wear to look decent, and
   headed down to where the girl in the ponytail had said might be a
   Chinese restaurant.

   Sure enough, it was, as it turned out some of the best Chinese
   food I have ever had. At the end we had fortune cookies. Mine
   was:

   By accomplishing nothing,
   nothing is left unaccomplished.

   Hers was:

   Your past present before you
   is your future.

   I wasn't quite sure what that meant, and she shrugged and said,
   "oh, well it's just by chance anyway."

   "There's no such thing."

   She eyed me keenly. "No such thing as chance?"

   "That's right."

   "So, if I roll a dice, or shuffle a deck of cards, the number I
   get isn't by chance?"

   "It may seem highly chaotic, but it's not random. Everything has
   a meaning and a purpose."

   She laughed and stood up to go. "Whatever. I still say it's by
   chance."

   I followed her out the door, and we walked down the street to the
   park.

   The sun was beneath the treetops now, and though it hadn't quite
   set the air was cooler, just perfect in fact, as we strolled down
   the deserted, neatly paved street. Funny how the pavement had
   begun right here.

   It was a nice little park, with immaculately manicured green
   lawns, and a little abandoned swingset with a slide.

   We went over to the swings and were soon laughing and conversing
   as alternate pendulums rushing backward, then forward, then
   backward, then forward through space.

   "What's that over there?" she asked.

   "Where?"

   She pointed, on her next upswing. It was barely visible at the
   apogee of the curve, the head of a statue over the crest of a
   neatly manicured green hilltop, no doubt a monument to one of the
   founding fathers of this great town.

   After a few minutes more of swinging, we landed in the clean
   fresh sand, and rolled over together onto the grass, where she
   lay on top of me as we both caught our breath.

   "You want to go check it out?" she asked.

   "Sure, not much else to do. Let's head back after."

   "'K."

   But as the statue emerged, rising over the crest of the hill as
   we walked towards it, we saw that it was not a founding father at
   all, but what seemed to be woman. No, not a woman, a girl, facing
   us.

   The girl looked rather familiar.

   "She looks like me," said Jasmin.

   "I'd have to agree," I agreed.

   "It's a little spooky," she said. "but I suppose young girls all
   sort of look the same."

   "No," I said. "You're a lot more beautiful than the rest."

   She laughed. "You're just saying that," but she knew I wasn't.

   We arrived in front of the statue and stared up at it. The
   likeness was uncanny, though the statue was a lot larger than
   life. The sculptor had effectively caught a very little-girl-like
   gesture, and her expression was an odd combination of gaiety and
   solemnity, as if the poor artist had been told to redo it
   numerous times, first "too happy," then "too sad," then "too
   happy," and so on, until finally it had arrived at a nonexistent
   spot in between the two.

   Looking at the foot of the pedestal, I saw the plaque. I pointed,
   and she read it too.

   IN MEMORY
   Jasmin McCloud,
   Lost in Space, 2221

   Donated by the McCloud Foundation.

   "OK," she said. "This is pretty seriously spooky."

   She was staring up at herself, when a young voice behind us piped
   up, "You look like the girl in the statue."

   We both wheeled around to look. Shyly uncertain at the edge of
   the walkway, over to our left, was a girl about Jasmin's age...
   her apparent age, that is, about eleven.

   The girl was stunningly beautiful, her face of statuesque Slavic
   features, and long blonde curly hair trickling down her back and
   shoulders, in colors that ranged from butter to vanilla
   ice-cream.

   She wore a light blouse, prim and proper in design, white in
   color, trimmed tastefully at the edges with curved accents of
   deep maroon lace. The material was of almost see-through mesh, to
   keep cool in the heat, no doubt, and I could barely make out that
   she was wearing no bra -- not that she would have needed one. The
   dress ended just above her knees, and as if in unison, Jasmin and
   I stared, entranced, at her beautifully skinny smooth legs that
   descended so gracefully to her long thin bare feet.

   "Where did you come from?" demanded Jasmin. "Jeez, you startled
   us."

   The girl was smiling, with awkward introversion, but unable to
   conceal her fascination with Jasmin. "Lots of girls come to town
   saying they're the girl in the statue, and then the institute
   says they're not and they leave again. But they never come over
   to look at the statue. I think you're the girl in the statue."

   "Well, my name is Jasmin, but it must be just a coincidence.
   What's yours?"

   "Hi, I'm Angela. My family comes here on vacation, and we're
   leaving tomorrow, but I always come over to look at the girl in
   the statue, because I think she's the most beautiful girl I've
   ever seen, and I know she's not really lost, but she'll come back
   some day, and I think you're the girl in the statue."

   I could tell Jasmin was losing her patience with this stream of
   rambling, simple-minded and obsequious attention.

   Angela smiled silently, China-blue eyes unblinking. "Can I touch
   your hand?" she asked softly.

   Jasmin and I exchanged glances. "Sure," replied Jasmin, reaching
   out her right hand to shake.

   Angela slowly walked over, in her simple daze, gently taking
   Jasmin's hand in both of hers, and gave her one of the most
   lovingly sensuous long, luxurious moist kisses on the back of her
   hand that I have ever seen.

   Glancing up, she observed Jasmin's typically cynical expression
   of consternation and disbelief, and Angela, with an indescribably
   fragile expression of sadness, abruptly ran away, bare feet
   padding across the walkway, then dimpling the lawn as her
   graceful dress swirled around her, and vanished through the
   trees.

   Jasmin was silent for a moment or two, then said: "What was
   that?"

   "I think she likes you," I replied.

   After standing pointlessly before the statue for a while longer,
   the cue for something else to happen never came, so we awkwardly
   made an unspoken decision to walk back in silence.

   "She mentioned something about an Institute," I said.

   "Did she?"

   "I think we should look there."

   Jasmin shrugged.

   It was starting to get dark now, so we strolled along the unlit
   boulevard, holding hands, watching the stars come out.
     ____________________________________________________________

   On inquiring of the lady at the hotel front desk about the
   institute, we discovered that it was locked up tight for the
   night, and would re-open promptly at 8 the next morning.

   We then headed back to our room where, exhausted with the
   tumultuous events of the day, we both tore off our clothes and
   hit the bed like two statues, delving deep into blissful,
   passionate... sleep.
     ____________________________________________________________

   Late at night, I awoke, and became aware from her breathing that
   she was awake. Her warmth beside me was comforting.

   Finally she sighed and turned to face me. "Did she get to you,
   too?" she asked.

   "I guess," I said. "You know, I think I forgot to tell you, but I
   totally adore young girls."

   She laughed. "It's OK. I do too." She rested her chin on her
   forearm, studying me. Finally she said: "How about you pretend
   that I'm her, and I pretend that you're her. You can fuck me from
   behind, so we can both close our eyes, and let our imaginations
   run wild."

   "But how will you pretend I'm a woman?"

   She twitched her eyebrows devilishly. "Maybe she has a
   doubled-ended dildo."

   "That shy sweet little thing? I doubt it."

   "Yeah, but that's what makes it fun. When those innocent little
   girls turn out to be kinkier than you thought."

   "I wouldn't know anything about that," I replied. Thinking for a
   moment, I asked, "Do you think she'd let us both have her at
   once?"

   She just smiled. I hadn't noticed that she had been caressing my
   penis into fullness, when she gently pushed her ringed fingers
   over the tip, sending shivers of full stiffness through my body.

   She turned over onto her knees, and spread her cheeks towards me,
   reaching under her legs to guide me inside of her. Her jagged cry
   on that first contact grabbed my libido and shook it all about. I
   shoved my unabating fiery rod into her dripping caverns, and we
   both cut our imaginations loose, like two lions sniffing each
   other.

   "Angela," she called out softly, over and over, "Oh Angela, I
   love you, oh, Angela," and so on.

   For awhile, I closed my eyes and imagined that I was making love
   to the sweet little curly-haired blonde girl we had met for so
   few moments before she had slipped through our fingers.

   But hearing Jasmin call out her name so repeatedly caused an
   amazing transformation... I began to imagine that I was Angela,
   making love with Jasmin, that the long buttery vanilla curls were
   mine, that it was my body that was so sleek and smooth and young,
   my beauty that turned the sexual key in the lock of my young
   lover.

   A blissful wind filled the sails of my sexual abandon, and
   carried me with grand leisure, easily soaring over the waves and
   into the depths of release, as once again I shared the experience
   of orgasm with the girl I love as we both came, convulsing
   ecstatically together.

   Later, after we had caught our breath and were both resting in
   the smell of newly committed sex, she asked: "So how was that?"

   "Fun," I said. "And you?"

   She laughed. "Oh yeah."

   Gradually we both fell comfortably asleep.
     ____________________________________________________________

   The next day, we got directions from the nice lady at the front
   desk, then set off on the road to the institute. Apparently they
   were the ones who owned the park, and paved the roads nearby
   everything they owned.

   We were lone pedestrians on the road underneath a tropical sun
   that was beginning to blare.

   She stopped to listen. "Do you hear music?"

   I stopped, and nodded. I heard it too. "The ride of the
   valkeries," I identified.

   Abruptly over the hill ahead of us, a fancy green land-van came
   into sight and hurtled toward us, floating several inches in the
   air on its antigrav pods, overwhelming us with the high-fidelity
   valkeries. The driver hadn't been expecting pedestrians on the
   road, and swerved slightly to avoid us as it swooshed by and
   vanished in the opposite direction, the music fading with it.

   Nowadays, land vehicles are so quiet that they customarily
   announce themselves by playing music so that pedestrians,
   equestrians, and bicyclists won't be startled. The sound of a
   modern highway would warm the heart of Charles Ives.

   We soon heard the music behind us again, and this time the driver
   stopped and leaned out the window.

   "Are you headed to the institute?" he asked.

   "Uh, yeah."

   "Would you like a ride?"

   We both (at the same moment) noticed the impressively lettered
   writing in green and gold on the side of the van:

   Jasmin McCloud Memorial Institute and Foundation
   Shuttle service

   We exchanged glances. "Sure."

   "I guess this starts to answer the question of what happened to
   your mom and dad," I commented as we climbed in.

   We shared the compartment with a few formally-dressed men and
   women, apparently on their way to work.

   "You just get off the monorail?" I inquired, and they nodded.

   We drove by a sign, set on a hill in the middle of an impressive
   flower garden, boasting a similar inscription as the side of the
   van.

   "Pretty seriously spooky," murmured Jasmin.

   We reached our destination, as the driveway passed underneath a
   high overarching roof.

   "Thanks," we said, as the driver smiled, waved, and drove off,
   and our fellow riders dissolved into doorways, leaving us
   standing alone together in the middle of the immense shaded
   brick-paved front patio, large-leaved plants on all sides.

   Wordlessly, we found our way to the main entrance, and stepped
   inside an airconditioned and luxuriously businesslike main lobby.
   Before us, behind an imposing counter decorated with vertical
   lines of wood, sat a woman with short businesslike hair and dark
   attire. She frowned at something invisible to us, in front of
   her.

   "May I help you?" she inquired frostily.

   Jasmin stepped up to the counter and stood on tiptoes to see.
   "I'm Jasmin McCloud," she said. "and I want to know what happened
   to my mom and dad."

   The woman looked up, studying her briefly. "Not a bad imitation.
   I'd have to say though, the girl before you was more convincing.
   Looked a lot more like her. Amazing what cheap plastic surgery
   will accomplish nowadays." She glared dismissively at me. "And I
   suppose you're the rescuer, seeking the reward?"

   "Reward?" I replied.

   "Nice touch," she shrugged. "Feigning ignorance. It's been tried
   before, of course."

   I could sense the fury building inside of Jasmin.

   "Jazz," I warned.

   "Lady," she exploded, "I don't care what some iced-over
   paper-pushing bitch thinks. I know who I am. And, unlike you, I
   don't need plastic surgery."

   Her bangs were getting to the point where they landed directly in
   her eyes, and she had perfected a little puff of air upward from
   her lips (which she gave now) to blow them away.

   The lady blinked, with the hint of a smile. "Flattery will get
   you nowhere," she replied, pushing some papers across the top of
   the counter. "Here are the forms. You'll need to fill out all
   three pages, both sides. Not that it matters, now that someone
   leaked all of the correct answers on the Galactranet. In the end,
   it's not up to me. You'll need to pass the genetics test."

   Jasmin promptly tore the forms into little pieces and threw them
   back over the counter. "I don't need your fucking forms. I need
   to know what happened to my mom and dad. Can't anyone just tell
   me?"

   She started to cry and I took her in my arms.

   Another lady stepped out curiously from behind, a long-haired
   blonde woman in light olive formal dress. "What's going on here?"
   she asked. Seeing us, she said, "Oh, sorry. I thought it sounded
   like my daughter, though," (raising her eyebrows) "she doesn't
   typically use such language."

   When Jasmin looked up, the woman froze for a moment, then slowly
   walked over and bent down to talk to her. "What's going on," she
   asked gently.

   "I want to know what happened to my mom and dad," Jasmin replied,
   still crying a little.

   "You're Jasmin McCloud?" asked the blonde woman.

   "Yes."

   I nodded too.

   "If that's true, you're a very wealthy little girl," said the
   blonde woman. "And I would be your great-great-great-great-great
   niece..." she laughed. "Did I put in seven `greats?'" The woman
   couldn't take her eyes off of Jasmin.

   The woman behind the desk fidgeted, frowned, and resumed what she
   had been doing.

   "Maybe if you saw the ship, it would help," I offered. "It's
   parked up at the spacestation."

   "Doesn't take much to rent one of those antiques," broke in the
   lady behind the desk.

   "Mabel, that will be enough," said the blonde woman.

   She turned back to Jasmin. "My name is Jacinda. Can I offer you
   something to drink?"

   "Yes thank you. Do you have radioactive-lime soda?"

   Jacinda smiled. "Follow me. You know, that's one of the questions
   on the test?"

   Jasmin's rage returned momentarily, as we started to walk "You
   mean everything about me is floating around for everyone to
   read?"

   Jacinda's eyes were gentle, as she led us back through the
   doorway she had come through, and down a hall to a conference
   room. "I think the correct answer on the test was `Creme soda.'"

   Jasmin snorted. "I had it once, and I guess said I liked it. But
   it was hardly my favorite."

   "You know, this is going to sound funny, but you remind me so
   much of my mother. Have a seat, I'll be right back."

   She returned with the scary-looking green soda, which Jasmin
   slurped eagerly, and a couple of hardbound books, history books.
   "The Syrene McClouds," was the title of one.

   "This one has pictures of your mom and dad," she opened it. "You
   know, they spent decades searching for you. They offered a
   substantial reward for anyone who found your ship, which has
   obviously been uncollected all these years, though it's been
   adjusted for inflation. And they left you with a large sum of
   inheritance, which has been kept in investments that have grown
   in significantly value."

   Jasmin pored over the pictures, fascinated. "Wow, all in a book,
   like they're all famous or something. A lot older than I remember
   them," She started to cry again, silently, and pushed the book
   back onto the table.

   Jacinda watched her kindly. "The will your father left behind
   requires the genetic testing, so whenever you're ready we can go
   do it. The machine is down the hall, and it only takes a few
   minutes." She smiled. "I've watched a lot of these girls come and
   go, trying to collect the treasure." She glanced briefly up at
   me, but she couldn't take her eyes off of Jasmin.
     ____________________________________________________________

   At this point, even I had been starting to half-wonder if she
   were the real Jasmin, or if this were maybe an elaborate prank
   being played on me. But no, she pressed her hand against the
   plate of glass, and a few minutes later the machine spat out a
   sheet of paper with green flags on every item. Every single
   marker matched.

   Jasmin grinned widely.
     ____________________________________________________________

   The next few months were a bit overwhelming. The money was
   certainly nice, but everything became so complex all of a sudden.
   She was accustomed to it, but for me, being surrounded by
   opulence was a novel experience.

   The first thing to happen was that we moved out of the motel we
   had been staying at, into a wing of Jacinda's home in the big
   city. The lady at the front desk was very happy for us when she
   heard the news.

   Jacinda very kindly provided us with two bedrooms, and discreet
   maids hopefully did not remark on the fact that one of the beds
   never got used, nor on the necessity to apply a variety of
   specialized stain removal techniques on various occasions.

   As far as Jasmin and I, our continuing love for each other
   astonished both of us. Our mutual imperfections were somehow
   perfectly matched, and every kinky little desire that popped up,
   that one of us was afraid to mention, turned out to be exactly
   the thing the other wanted. I think she knows me better than I do
   myself.

   We refrained from discussing our relationship with her family,
   and they would occasionally ask prodding questions, but for the
   most part they were willing to let the matter slide. Though it's
   hard to believe they didn't at least suspect something, Jasmin
   was revered like a goddess, nobody would confront such a topic to
   her face.

   Xavier was suitably amazed when I called him up and told him
   about the institute and the reward and so on. Jasmin's family
   wanted to tow the ship away into a museum but Jasmin protested,
   so instead they docked it in a part of the same spacestation that
   the McCloud family happened to own, where it was fully attended
   and guarded at all times.

   In the meantime, I used a portion of the reward money to acquire
   a new ship, a Spectre 3.0 (top of the line) that I had been
   drooling over for a few years now, but had been unable to afford.
   I got the model with physical instrumentation to supplement the
   holo-dials, so that Jasmin would be happy with it, and we would
   go out together under the guise of my providing flight
   instruction.

   The truth was that I didn't have a lot to teach her. She is the
   most amazing pilot I have ever met, and I would sit beside her
   watching the manoeuvres she practiced inside the Syrene solar
   system, in a continual state of awe and amazement.

   Back on the planet, there was the seemingly endless stream of
   relatives that would come and visit, some hinting at the desire
   for monetary favors, others simply wanting to tell the story that
   they had met the famous personage.

   Then there were the TV appearances. We each got to relate our
   respective sides of the story numerous times, until the telling
   of it became so well-polished that I had nearly forgotten the
   actual events.

   There was a fair amount of interest in the cloaking device which
   I had invented, and a number of investors popped up with various
   offers. I could have made a lot of money off of it, but I didn't
   want it to become something available only to the rich.

   So I finally settled on a arrangement that made it legal to
   freely distribute the algorithm for any use other than by the
   Inquisition, and I wound up making a fair amount of money off of
   it anyway, from the pre-packaged version distributed by a company
   that had sprang up for the purpose.

   When Jasmin and I were on TV, they always wanted us to play our
   duets together, so we got used to carrying the harp and flute
   with us wherever we went. At first, they were very kind,
   considering that neither of us was all that accomplished of a
   musician. But after awhile, we had practiced enough to even
   provide a reasonable semblance of entertainment.

   Our presence presented the opportunity to bring up the topic of
   religious persecution, and various commentators and experts would
   show up to hash over every agonized detail of the topic. On
   Syrene where, after all, the Inquisition was outlawed, my stories
   met with sympathetic audiences.

   Now and then Jasmin would drop a hint about the young girl with
   blonde curls who had been standing by the statue when we first
   laid eyes on it, saying that she would really like to talk to
   Angela again.

   Interviewers would ask Jasmin what her plans were, and the one
   that kept coming up was "return to Capricorn."

   It was an idea that I discouraged. In fact, I had chosen to take
   the big step and become a Syrenian citizen. Aside from anything
   else, I decided that I like the way they do things here.

   But Jasmin was young and eager to roam, plus the idea of taking a
   voyage in ten days that had once, in her lifetime, consumed ten
   years, was of great fascination to her.

   We watched the video in which her father read the will, word for
   word, even though the document was also written out and signed by
   both her parents. I recognized the faces, style of gesture, and
   body-language from the message on the ship, though obviously the
   couple in this film were much older.

   First, her mom came on. "Jasmin, I hope you recognize me. This is
   your mom speaking. I and your father hope very much that you will
   be watching this some day, though we have had to let go of the
   hope that it might happen during our lifetimes.

   "We want you to know that we love you very much, and we have done
   everything we possibly can to find you, sent out ships, hired
   inventors to create new methods of detecting lost ships, posted
   rewards... you wouldn't believe how much effort we have spent of
   our lives trying to think of some way to have you back with us
   again.

   "We have left behind enough drotchkings so that you will be able
   to live well, though it will be managed by our trust until you
   turn eighteen, biologically speaking.

   "We also created a foundation to commit charitable acts in your
   name so that," (she smiled) "wherever you go in the universe, you
   will know that you are welcomed. And now," (she turned) "your
   father would like to read our will, regarding your inheritance
   and the foundation."

   And, just like a man, he read every single word, with no
   emotional or expressive additions of any kind.

   She was to continue with her schooling, which became a point of
   some tension between her and her family for a while. She did not
   wish to participate in the classroom experience, but preferred to
   do private study at home, on her own time.

   After much fuss, the family agreed to let me supervise the home
   schooling, especially after I produced the records of a teaching
   credential I had once earned many moons before.

   The persistence of my presence on the scene was a point of some
   controversy in circles outside the family, and ample fodder for
   disgusting (but often true) allegations splashed across various
   tabloid journals, which provided countless luridly dramatic
   fantasies for millions of lonely middle-aged women across the
   galaxy.

   Equally risqu�were the famed rumors of Jasmin's lesbianism. In
   fact, sometime during the two centuries she had spent missing,
   there had sprang up a half-serious cult of lesbian
   Jasmin-worshipers, who revered the mysteriously absent bi-goddess
   and held conventions and orgies in her name on various occasions.

   A representative of the cult turned up at Jacinda's door one day,
   only to be summarily shuffled away. Though I know that Jasmin
   would have been perfectly happy to -- um, -- talk with them.

   Finally, for a number of reasons, Jasmin and I decided to move
   out of the city and into our own home. And yes, she wanted me to
   stay with her.

   After some deliberation, we settled on a location nearby where
   the institute, which was sufficiently rural to suit our need for
   privacy, but close enough to give the family the opportunity to
   keep an eye on her.

   Our inquiries around the city of Old New Oldtown turned up
   absolutely zero information regarding Angela or her family. It
   was as if she had never existed. Sometimes we would stroll
   through the park near twilight, hoping to round a corner or crest
   a hilltop to be greeted by a beautiful young girl with blonde
   curls, but none appeared.

   The girl with the ponytail was named Susan, and Jasmin convinced
   her to come over for dinner a couple of times, but aside from the
   three of us cuddling on the couch together watching a movie, and
   the astoundingly satisfying fantasies Jasmin and I had together
   after Susan had left, nothing really came of it.

   I was able to hire a number of talented instructors in various
   fields educate Jasmin in topics in which I was not an expert,
   including a rather butch-looking older woman with short hair who
   instructed her on the fineries of fencing and archery, and a
   bubblingly cheerful lady with bright red curly hair who inspired
   her to profound heights of musical insight and technical
   ingenuity with harp and voice.
     ____________________________________________________________

   One night, we sat out on the balcony under the brightly twinkling
   stars, playing flute-and-harp duets together.

   In between songs, she said: "It's time for me to return to
   Capricorn."

   "OK," I sighed.

   The next morning we boarded the elevator to my ship, and soon
   found ourselves in the infraspace corridor headed towards
   Capricorn.
     ____________________________________________________________



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