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Coworker wants to see the nude pictures.
The lights of the hall became hazy in his eyes and seemed overly bright, but he continued the controlled breathing until he felt the warmth begin to spread down his abdomen and begin to radiate out into his limbs.
Again, Chris glanced over at the pale smooth skin of the girl's thighs. But his eyes did not linger, this time. He simply recorded the image in his thoughts and let his eyes unfocus as he stared forward from where he was sitting...
Chris's hand, neatly-trimmed nails, wide palms and long fingers...He feels the cool skin of her thigh beneath the warm palm of his hand. Her small hand, also warm, rests lightly on his. Plenty of time.
"Who are you?" She says, in Chris's mind.
"I am...an admirer." Chris admits.
"Why do you touch me?" She whispers. "My boyfriend would not approve."
"He will not know this invisible touching." Chris answers.
His hand slides down to her knee, down on the inside of her knee as he kneels before her. He must be halfway into the aisle, as there is not enough room between her knees and the chair in front of her. He rests his head in her lap, and she uncrosses her legs to better cradle his head between her thighs. His cheek is warm against her thighs, and her thighs are warm as well in the cool auditorium. Her hand rests on his head, and her fingers stroke his hair...
Chris's eyes opened and he looked down at his watch. Another fifteen minutes. He glanced over at the girl across the aisle. Did she know what he was thinking? She also seemed to be lost in a fugue, staring forward in a daze. Her inert hand lay on the notebook across her knee, still holding a pen lightly between delicate finger and thumb. Her legs were uncrossed.
Chris whispers, "Do you share my thoughts?"
After a moment, an answer seems to enter Chris's awareness. "Who are you?" she asks.
"You don't know me, but perhaps we share...more than you might think." Chris cannot imagine a likely answer. "We share an intimacy, perhaps."
"I don't know you." She says-not insistingly, but merely in uncomprehending repetition.
Chris slides his hand on to her lap to grasp her delicate hand in his own. "But if I speak only to the unconscious mind..." Chris considers "Then this moment is everything. It is all. I alone retain awareness. If I were to rape your mind, would you feel it? Would you wake up crying in the middle of the night and not know why? Or would you continue on, oblivious to the mind residing inside of your own?"
There is no answer.
Chris kneels before her, turning her towards him. He wills her shorts away, and he slips his hands underneath the sides of her panties to grasp the flesh of her hips in his palms. He looks up at her face from his vantage point, and she glances down at him with blank detachment.
"Dammit!" He shouts. "Don't look at me that way-as if I was not a person. I am here! I exist!" But her mind is stubborn.
Frustrated, Chris rips out the sides of her panties in a sweep of his hands, so that they fall to the seat underneath her. He feels a sharp involuntary gasp in his chest.
"Like a mother...your womb...giver of life..." Chris stares worshipfully at her nakedness. Her cunt is unshaven, but the cushion of fur around her groin does not hide her labia. They glisten and shine with a pink wetness. There is a wildness here that will not be tamed. Her furred cunt stands in stark contrast to the silky smooth skin of her thighs, hidden from the social norms that influence her visible self. Chris would like to bury himself in her, but instead he forms his mouth into a pout that cradles his extended tongue, like some crude imitation of an ape. She tastes, not sweet, but...somewhat bitter and salty with juices that glide like molasses and undulate into his open mouth. He wishes to swallow her spirit, the milk of her loins. He drinks of her essence.
Her thighs press against his cheeks, and he cradles her buttocks in his arms.