Senses
Completed April 13, 1998
Senses is a novel featuring musician Jim Christopher as one of the characters. Senses is a work of science fiction set in the present day. It's a long novel, and it was put up bit by bit starting in August of 1997 and finishing in April of 1998. (Everything after chapter 50 was uploaded on April 13, 1998).
Warning! Senses is a bit graphic in spots. This means strong sexual content and a few scenes of intense violence. There is also graphic language used by the various characters. Discretion is advised.
CONTENTS
About The Senses World
Foreplay
Senses - 1991
(All of the above thru Chapter One can be found on this first web page.)
(everything below here will be published on line in times to come)
Instinct - 1994
Wicca - 1992
Seducer - 1993
Hack - 198?
Slap - 1995
Author - 1998
Lyrics
Afterword
ABOUT THE SENSES WORLD
You don't have to read this part. This isn't the novel, but rather a few rambling words from the writer.
Let's start at the top. I had no intention of writing a novel this long. Nor had I intended it to take as long as it did (twelve years). But, as they say, life happens.
What is the inspiration for this work? It actually started with the third part of the novel, Wicca, which I initially called "Tarot". The first four parts of that story were written as part of an English assignment my freshman year of college. Once the class was over I promptly forgot about it.
Then in 1986 (4 years later) I had a dream that inspired the first five pages of Senses. Before I knew it I was up to page forty and still had no plot, so I sat and outlined the whole thing and proceeded to write it over the following summer. That was going to be the entire story.
Until I began to write Instinct. I had it half finished when I realized that a character I needed to introduce I had already created for Senses. So I brought him in, only to discover that I couldn't think of an ending for the story. So I brought in everyone else I had created so far and then set it aside. (Once I had finished more of the novel I came back and patched a few holes.)
By this point I realized that I could bring back Wicca and incorporate it into the story, which I did. The novel was supposed to end there, and a sequel would explain the problems I had created for myself in Instinct. It didn't happen that way.
My marriage fell apart, influencing the events in Seducer. By the time I finally met my final wife and true love Cathy, my ideas about such things as happen in the story had evolved (read on; that's all I'm going to give you for now) and I changed how they ended up.
Then I wrote Hack, just because another one of the characters I created needed a vehicle of his own.
Then I sat down and decided to work out a final solution to the problem I had created for myself in Instinct, and that took a while. In the meantime, I started writing Author, the last story in this collection, to bring a sense of closure to the whole mess.
Confused? Try writing it!
I've even re-written this intro so many times as I think of new things to say that I've finally decided to just write from the top of my head and whatever goes down at this sitting is what's going to be there.
Anyway. Without giving anything away, let me explain that this is a novel about extraordinary people. Cartoon people. If you're a fan of Japanese animation ("Project A-ko" would be a good example) you'll probably get a big kick out of my characters and the rather absurdist and surreal plot line that evolves over the course of the novel.
Reality is what you make of it. A great man once said "...reality is full of lies and balderdash and I'm glad to say I have no grasp of it whatsoever!" Even if the good Vladimir Baron von Munchhausen was fictional I admire the hell out of the man.
I have made little attempt to follow history as it currently stands. I began treating this as a serious project in 1986, and the world is far different than I imagined it would be. The original way the plot was going to finish up had to be scrapped because it showed up in a Spider Robinson novel.
Hey Spider, I'm a bit pissed off about the bit about the Lucky Duck, but I figure if we can both come up with the same idea separately, and the origin of my "lucky" character is different, I'll let it slide. Besides, I like my character of Jace too much. However, the bit about the subways and sewers was too much for me to cope with. Maybe I'll forgive that one some day.
Excuse me while I pull myself out of this subreferential hellhole I've dug myself into.
Anyway, the story involves over 16 major characters and is a bit involved in places. However, unlike other novelists who include a cast of characters at the beginning of the novel, I'm going to wait and roll the credits at the end. My reason for that will begin to make sense after about 460 pages or so, depending upon how the editors lay out the book. (However, within the context of the novel I'm going to break my words in only a few pages. There are a lot of point of view shifts in the novel).
This story, as are all my stories, was first written long-hand. I then translated the first two stories onto an old Commodore-64, and then to a Macintosh Powerbook 140. It was finished on a Powerbook 180c.
Thanks to the numerous people who gave their input and time in the criticism of this work; Felecia Leviton Burkeman, Derek Burkeman, Libby Reed, Alex Reed, Max Belin, Dave Harper (who helped me when the Powerbook 140 crashed), Michelle Springston, Leah Robin, Ed Lee, Karl Hamner, and everyone who's helped out with the Beethoven Street Blues. Extra special thanks go to Jim Christopher for the lyrics and his allowances. Without him this novel would have never happened.
And a final thanks to my wife Cathy and my son Michael. I love you both dearly. Thank you for putting up with me during those late nights when I had to write.
I dedicate this work in memory of the friends and family lost over the years to AIDS and to two special people who influenced my life more than they'll ever know. My grandmother, Helen Story, who taught me to never take life seriously (the woman once broke her hand when the Watergate hearings were going on - she had the doctor set her hand in the cast in a rude gesture and sent a letter to Richard Nixon asking if he'd autograph the cast - there aren't people enough like her in the world), and my father, Jim Reed, who taught me the power of a basso profundo, to never quit, and not let anyone stand in my way (and he also had the balls to stand in the way of anyone who said otherwise - a contradiction that warms my heart still). I miss them both. We all do.
So I sit in my house and I ramble on, hoping to make some sense out of the words I began to write when I first sat down.
Oh, fuck it. Just read the book, which starts on the next page. And thanks for reading it.
Chris Reed
San Francisco, 1994
FOREPLAY
Before you get started reading this, as I know you are so eager to do, let me first apologize for the fact that the entire story is broken into three files, this one Senses being the first. The second book is to be called Slap and the third will be Author. It's just that the story is so damned long and your file space only would take so much (Make room, because books two and three are coming). Besides, I write on a Macintosh, while you are IBM.
There are 16 major characters to our little tale (little tale - we saved this goddamned planet, but the others want to be humble) including me. Well, 17 but number 17 is a machine, and that will take some explanation. The problem is, to start this story when the big stuff that history books are being written about would be like Buckaroo Bonsai - accepting the fantastic at face value. Real life don't work that way (I know, improper English). To be honest, it amazes me that it worked at all, and I was partly responsible!
The way the story is told has been approved by all of the people involved. Jim likes that he looks like a rascal because, well, he is one (although he's a bit pissed that I'm telling the truth about Angie). 'drink's story really is like B-Grade fiction. Larry's story is told concisely, because my interviews with that man and his friends went that way. A.J.'s tale is a true reflection of the man, while Paul's come across like detective fiction, with the rest of the cast thrown in. Scott's story is just as goofy as he is. Mine is....well....like me. After all, as Larry continually points out, I'm young.
Anyway, the cast of major characters is as follows:
Jim Christopher The rock star you already know
Karen Price Jim's girlfriend
A.J. Christopher Jim's younger brother - world's tallest rock star
Paul Cynic Jim's manager
Carrie Fallon Guitarist on Jim and A.J.'s tour
Scott David Chief tech, same tour
'drink Davis Basic beach bum and world traveler
Matthias Gibraltar His drinking buddy
Debbie Cynic Paul's younger sister
Larry Christopher Jim's older brother - sells books in San Francisco
Morgana St. John Larry's sole employee
Rand Weiss Larry's childhood friend
Constance Estel Rand's ex
Angie Rameriz Day bartender at Jim's favorite bar
Nicki Davis Who got me into this mess
Jace Wright Me, Myself, Eye
In addition, I think that Mike, the owner of Jim's favorite bar, is an important character as well as Jason, Lee and Rex from Jim's band Blue Shift. You also cannot ignore Jeff Soszynski or the guy we call Duncan Idaho or Detective Dylan (we changed his name for the books, although the real joke behind his name is accurate). Oh yes, Janis (our number 17) as well. They're just as important, but they weren't directly involved in the events that sent us into seclusion. (Well, Janis was, but I'm getting ahead of myself here).
After a fashion, I envy them their freedom. Jim and A.J. were already leading fairly secluded, if public, lives, but now the rest of us can't even go to McDonald's without everybody in the place pointing fingers. And I like Big Macs.
The work we do and have done is important. I think we all realize that. We'd like to continue it (which we are) and re-enter public life - at least as much as possible. Jim and A.J. both want to tour again and Larry misses the academic world the Occult flourishes in. The rest of us could probably return to public life fairly easily, but this is about all of us, and the future of man. Committed, we remain.
Aw hell, committed we should be.
Anyway, enough reminiscing (I get melancholy when I do that, but I believe you've noticed that by now). There are a total of seven stories. They are, in order, Senses, Instinct, Wicca, Seducer, Hack, Slap, and Author. Enjoy them as best you can, and you just may get some insight into this bunch of crazies. Lord knows how important that is.
Thanks.
Jace Wright.
By the way, a copy of Jim's new album should be in your mail on or about 26 September. It includes remakes of Razor's Edge and Cross-examination. Enjoy!
Transmitted 23 September to the offices of Radio Free California (a California publications press house) via modem from an unknown source. As was the following. Found 25 September by Dave. The album arrived this morning, Chris. Good stuff, definitely Jim Christopher. No Mistaking that voice. I think we've got something very important and very weird here. Please give it a read.
Signed, Max.
SENSES
1991
TOUCH
It was a dark room. Of course, the patrons preferred it that way. This was no place for day people; it was a bar.
It was a very good one, but few people knew that. This was also a good thing, for the patrons. It was a comfortable place.
The man who walked in was a regular. He was in his late twenties, with shoulder-length hair. He looked unwashed, unkempt, unshaven, and unawake. It was intentional, of course. He squinted to adjust to the darkness and walked in.
He took in his surroundings as he came in. A lot of empty tables, a few token seats at the bar. He walked to the bartender.
"Hello, Mike," he said.
The bartender, whose name was not Mike but was used to this, responded, "Hey, Jim. The usual?"
The young man, whose name was Jim, came back with, "Nah, just a Bushmill's."
The bartender hardly reacted, having already poured the drink.
Jim took the Bushmill's and sat at the bar. The seat to his right was vacant. He winked at the punk-rock woman to his left, who snorted and walked away. Both Jim and the bartender had to suppress a chuckle.
"How you doing this morning?" Jim asked.
"Not bad, although it's four p.m. Yourself?"
"Hanging in there."
"How goes work?"
"Slowly. It's a bigger project I'm working on right now."
"Isn't it always?"
"Not like this. I've been working on this for three months now, with my brother, and it could go three months more."
The bartender grimaced. "For you, that's bad."
"It is."
Jim sipped his drink while the bartender went to serve his other customers. In the six years he had frequented this bar most of their conversations had been along these lines: talk of work, a few private jokes only Jim knew, and then another drink which Jim presently ordered.
When she first walked in, no one could say. She was the type of woman few noticed the first time, but those who did noticed again. The bartender noticed. So did Jim.
"Hello, Karen," the bartender said. "What'll it be?"
"Bushmill's." She had a mid-range voice, a bit gravelly.
Jim looked her up and down. She was a short woman, barely five feet tall with strawberry-blonde hair. She had a thin frame, and wore thin-framed glasses. Jim finally noticed that she was staring back, and saluted her with his drink.
"What's that?" she asked.
Jim pointed to his Bushmill's. "Just admiring your choice of drink." He took a sip of his own for emphasis.
Karen took a sip of her own. "I didn't come here to be picked up," she said after a moment.
"Well," Jim considered, "I didn't come here to pick you up. Just admiring a drink or two from my workday. Besides," he took a sip, "if you'd wanted me to pick you up you'd be sitting closer than you are."
The bartender continued to polish his glasses, waiting for the night rush that he knew would eventually come. Although you would never know it from looking, he was placing a bet with himself as to how long it would be before Karen would decide to join Jim. He got it within five seconds, but that was a reflection of how well he could read his customers.
Karen finished her drink and walked over to Jim. She looked at the bartender as she took the seat to Jim's right. "Another," she said.
"Me too, Mike," Jim said.
Karen raised an eyebrow and looked first at Jim, then the bartender. The bartender took a breath awaiting the next move. If Karen made any mention about the bartender's name not being Mike, Jim would rather rudely get rid of her. As Karen made no move other than the raised eyebrow, the bartender realized all would work out and proceeded to pour the drinks. If Jim caught any of this it didn't show.
"Why did you come here?" Jim asked.
Karen thought it out before she answered. "Same reason as you."
Jim raised an eyebrow, then his re-filled drink to his lips. "Doubt it."
"Why?"
"You answered my question just as I would. You know me. A lie is easier."
Karen took another sip. "That was a weird answer. Do I know you?" she asked, puzzled.
Jim laughed a small ironic laugh. It was all he allowed himself. "Superficially at best," he replied. He downed the Bushmill's. "Who do you think I am?"
"Can't place it," Karen replied, frowning. "You're someone famous, aren't you?"
"Yes." It came out like a hiss.
Back down girl, the bartender thought. He doesn't come here to be recognized.
Karen sat back for a moment to finish the rest of her drink, as if thinking it through. As she sat her empty glass her eyes went wide, though only for a moment. She them just sat back as if to study Jim for a moment.
"Figured it out, did you," Jim stated.
Karen looked at the bartender. "Hit me again, Mike."
The bartender looked at Jim and Jim simply nodded. When the bartender brought back two drinks Karen said, "Hey, you've got a head start on me. Let me catch up."
"You don't want to do that," Jim replied. He downed his drink in two gulps. He set the glass down and let the drink hit. He closed his eyes to let the taste settle. When he opened his eyes seconds later, he noticed Karen's empty glass. He raised an eyebrow at that, then chuckled.
"Next round is mine, Mike," Jim said. He turned to the woman. "Your name is Karen, right? Karen what?"
Karen paused for a moment as if to think about it. "Price," she finally stated. "Karen Price."
Jim sipped his re-filled glass. "That silence spoke volumes, Karen Price," he stated.
"Hasn't been Price all that long," she replied. "It started out as something else and changed to something worse. This name is totally mine."
Jim raised his glass in a toast. "To Karen Price," he said.
"Hear, hear," Karen responded. The glasses clicked together and they both drank down.
The bartender took Jim's glass away as soon as it was dry. Jim gave him a hurt look, but backed down.
"I know, I know," Jim said defensively.
"What?" Karen asked.
"I have a bad habit," Jim stated, "of throwing glasses into a fireplace after a toast."
"So?"
"We don't have a fireplace here," the bartender stated.
"Oh."
Jim watched Karen as she set her glass down. She did it fast enough to shatter the glass although it didn't even crack. It was almost graceful. Jim pointed to a dartboard at the far end of the bar. "You play?" he asked.
Karen nodded. "You game?"
Jim asked the bartender for two sets of darts. When he got them one set had his name engraved upon them. "Ladies first," he said as he motioned her over to the throwing area.
"You're just looking for an excuse to watch me walk," Karen replied.
"Absolutely," Jim said.
As she walked to the board, the bartender tapped Jim on the shoulder. He had a hand in his vest, and was pumping like his heart was about to leap out. Jim chuckled, "Dream on, Mike, dream on."
When Jim got to the board Karen had thrown some practice shots. She was doing well. They both took shots to see who would go first. Karen got an eighteen, while Jim got a double-eight.
Karen took her first shot, a seventeen. "Can I ask you something?" she said.
"You can ask," Jim replied. Karen hit a triple-two.
"Why me?" Double-twenty. Seventy-three points.
Jim stood up to the line and threw. Triple-twenty. "Why not you?" he answered. "I mean, if there's a reason," eighteen, "please be kind enough to let me know." Double-eight. Ninety-four points.
"Very good," Karen noted as she came back to the line. Double-twenty. "No reason, just," triple-twenty, "curious. It doesn't happen all that often to me." Bullseye. 150 point round. 223 points total.
Jim shook his head and let out a long whistle, staring at the board as Karen retrieved her darts. "Maybe you haven't wanted to be picked up before. Maybe you're interested in someone right now," Jim pointed to himself, "who couldn't care less."
"I don't believe you," Karen replied.
"Believe?" Jim responded. He stepped to the throwing line. Bullseye. Bullseye. Bullseye. 300 points. 394 total. Game.
Jim stepped back. "Belief is a state of mind," he quipped.
Karen's jaw had dropped. She had also dropped her darts. All of them stuck to the floor even though one bounced. "Jesus!" she finally exclaimed.
Jim smiled. "Now, I'm not that good; I just practice a lot. I've been coming to this place for years now."
Karen picked up her darts. "That explains your alcohol tolerance."
Jim almost returned a similar comment but decided not to. There was a healing wound on her he didn't want to touch. "Want to go for a walk?" he asked.
"Love to."
Jim collected the darts and took them to the bartender. "Thanks, Mike," he said, "but we'll be leaving now." The bartender winked at him but didn't say a word as Jim and Karen walked out of the bar.
Jim lead Karen out of he bar and to the right, past the music store next door. They stopped to look at the musical instruments inside. "I love the location of this bar," he noted. "It allows me to mix business and pleasure."
Karen laughed.
The double doors in front of the music store opened, and a piano was wheeled out. Jim ran to it.
"Steinway, Steinway you bastard," Jim sang out, animated. He looked at Karen. "These are among the best in the world."
Karen looked at Jim and saw excitement in his eyes for the first time. They had not had much eye contact before, as Jim was over a foot taller. This, however, was new. "Play me a song," she pleaded.
Jim leaped over to the piano movers and asked them to wait a moment. He opened the piano lid and caressed the keys for a moment. He looked up at Karen and said, "This requires art." After a few tentative notes Jim launched into Debussy's Claire de Lune.
Karen stood by the head of the keyboard, enthralled as a crowd developed. After the six minute piece was over, the audience of forty people applauded, including Karen. Jim smiled and bowed and waved to appropriate people. Fortunately, no one appeared to be an autograph seeker.
He leaned to Karen. "Nice piano," he said.
Karen smiled. She looked at Jim with a puzzled expression, but amused. "What is it that you want?" she finally asked.
Jim smiled and muddled the irony through his brain. After a calculated pause he finally said, "To undress you."
Karen raised an eyebrow. "Take me home. Your home."
In the past, Jim had found sex to be a laborious experience. He simply liked to keep himself in control, and sex could make it difficult. This time, however, his thoughts were far from his concept of control. Besides, the preliminaries were always to be enjoyed.
Jim unbuttoned Karen's blouse one button at a time, kissing down her chest as he went. When he reached the snap in her jeans, he kept right on going, undoing it and pulling the jeans down around her standing form. He gave her time to step out of them before standing again, leading with his hands - over her breasts and removing her blouse.
Karen reached under Jim's shirt and pulled it off over his head, although Jim had to stoop a bit to get this accomplished. She knelt in front of him and undid his jeans, and then pulled them down with his underwear as well. She spent a moment or so tonguing his cock before standing again and removing her panties.
Jim picked up Karen to carry her to the bed, about 15 feet away. Between kisses, Karen commented on the large size of the room. Jim distractedly mentioned that he liked it that way, and would consider a tour. Later.
He set Karen gently on the bed and ran his hands over her body, stopping briefly to arouse her nipples and working to her clitoris for a massage. She stopped him though, looking at his cock, then his eyes, then his cock. "I want you," she said. Jim could not remember being so aroused.
Jim slid his cock in; a tight, pleasing fit. They got a rhythm going quickly, and both closed their eyes out of ecstasy, not choice.
When Jim was almost ready to come, he felt a wave of excitement run through him. He had never wanted to please someone as much as this woman, and he had all the confidence he could do it. He lost track of time, and all of his senses except those sexual.
When it was finally over, Jim let himself calm a little, with his eyes still shut. He felt good - the best he had been in a long time. Then it was gone. Jim felt a moment of absolute terror as Karen's grip tightened around his back and then that too was gone. But not before he opened his eyes.
They were floating eight feet above the bed.
Jim looked looked directly into Karen's eyes. "Do not," he said, "under any circumstances, let go of me until I say so."
Karen's eyes were wide open in shock, but she obviously heard and gripped Jim's back even tighter.
They floated down slowly, until Karen's back was a mere inch off the bed. Then Jim said, "Now let go." She fell the remaining distance to the bed, but landed softly.
Jim still floated above her. He reached down and grabbed the bedsheet, then pulled himself next to her. Then he too fell, face first, onto the bed.
Jim quickly got out of bed and backed away, watching Karen as she huddled herself to the head of the bed, still wide-eyed. As she was trying to cover herself a bit, Jim thought it best to put his pants on, although he skipped the underwear.
After a few moments, Karen recollected herself and appeared closer to her former self. She finally asked, "How?"
"I'd been wondering that myself, actually," Jim replied. "I'm not totally sure..." how much I can tell, he finished to himself. He thought about the experience, and how focused he had felt. He remembered the sudden fear he had felt. Then realization hit him. Hit him hard. He quickly decided he could tell a lot.
"It happened," Jim said, "because of me, and because of you. You're a true empath, aren't you?"
Karen looked wide-eyed again, then puzzled, confirming Jim's words.
"Put some clothes on," he said, "and I'll explain."
"It has a lot to do with physics and mathematics," Jim said.
They were in the kitchen of Jim's Brentwood home. Karen sat at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee in her hand that Jim had given her. He paced with a Coke in his hand while he explained.
"What happens," he continued, "is that every action and reaction happens under a set of rules that can be explained with mathematical equations. That's what theoretical physics is all about. What I have the ability to do is to change the values of the numbers in the equations that govern me into anything I choose."
"Even constants?" Karen asked.
"Even constants. And don't ask me how; even I don't know that. But it only affects me. That's why I had you hold on. I can lift you."
"Obviously. You don't do telekinesis?"
Jim laughed. "No. If only it were that simple."
"What does all this have to do with us being so high above the bed? And your deduction about me?"
"Well," Jim took a sip of his Coke, "there are certain times under which I can lose control. When you hit me with that emotional wash I lost it. Be thankful we floated up."
"We could have done something else?"
"It's possible, although to be honest the only other time it happened I also floated up. The girl passed out, fortunately, before climax. Only time in history a man wouldn't have died of embarrassment in that situation. It became easy to explain."
"So if it wasn't me, you would have kept control?"
Jim nodded. "The other girl was somewhat empathic, too. You're a good deal better, though."
Karen thought for a moment. "So," she finally said, "what number did you plug in?"
Jim considered for a moment. "Something between eight and nine, near as I can tell. I don't really remember."
Karen looked a bit disappointed. "I'm not a ten?" she asked.
Jim smiled. "I consider a ten on the sexual scale worthy cause to pass out. On a relative scale you're past there though."
"Thank you," Karen replied.
"Look over here." Jim pointed to a stack of magazines. Karen got up from the table and walked to the pile. She picked up the top volume.
"Physics America?" she asked.
"I subscribe," Jim said, "to this and about thirty other magazines like it. For self defense."
"Self defense?"
"So that I don't hurt myself, or anyone else. Some little subtlety could mean a lot of trouble if I think of the wrong numbers."
Karen chuckled. "How did you ever survive childhood?"
"Without windows."
Karen laughed. "I see why you like that bar, then," she said. She then reconsidered the laugh. "You're serious!"
"You know," Jim continued, "I never knew how bright the outdoors was until the age of seven? Sunlight was such an odd concept at first."
"Your parents finally let you out?" Karen asked.
"Social worker. Seven years old and not in school? State of California frowns on that."
"Oh." Karen finished her coffee. "May I ask you something?"
Jim drank down half the Coke, and burped. "Excuse me. Carbonation is harder than liquor. Go ahead, ask."
"Why are you a rock musician? It seems to me you could be very powerful."
"I'd never get any privacy. Actually, the music has nothing to do with my abilities. Just happened, I suppose. Actually, simple things are all I can manage."
"You call what happened to us in there simple?"
"I only have to change one formula. Things much beyond that require many simultaneous formulae and I can tell you from experience that you rarely get enough time to alter them properly. My turn."
Karen was startled, but she recovered quickly. "Ask away."
"How do you handle the empathy?"
"Not always easily." Karen sat back down. "As you have seen, I can lose control just like you can. I can read and project what others around me are experiencing, as well as my own emotions. For a bit there, I needed that ability to handle what happened here."
"You seem okay about it now."
"I've had time. Besides, you adjusted to me real fast, the least I can do is try to do the same."
"Thanks! Tell me, is sex always that...intense?"
"No." Karen smiled. "You seem to be more receptive than most."
"Not too surprising I should think. I think I see why we found each other."
"Oh? Why?"
"We make a good pair. We each have some of what the other is missing."
"You," Karen said, "are weird. You're not in love, are you?"
Jim laughed. "Not yet dear," he replied, "not yet. However, the thought of ripping your clothes off and fucking your brains out right here on the kitchen table is becoming harder to resist."
Karen smiled the ironic smile Jim always seemed to use. "Is the ceiling High enough?" she asked.
"I'm not sure," Jim answered. "That's why I'm resisting."
Karen undid the buttons of her blouse and shrugged it off her shoulders, revealing her small, shapely breasts. "This help any?" she asked.
Jim felt the hard-on coming. "Some," he replied.
She stood up to undo her jeans, then let them drop. She was naked. "This?" she asked.
Jim motioned her over to him, and let her put a hand down the front of his pants, onto hard cock. As the emotion flooded over him, all he could do was say "Yes...." as he closed his eyes.