Now we can get into parts I like the best; Showing off my bod, pulling cute men... and ladies... into my web, and...

Sex!

I literally treated myself with sex for my 18nth birthday present! I not only turned eighteen, I turned bitch! A-hundred percent!

My birthday celebrations, if you call it that, are usually modest. Hardly anyone knows my birth-date. Few people come, and that's the way I like it.
My birthday is in early summer.

Vicky came. I actually picked her up with Jasmine the carpet. You might wonder how, without attracting attention...
I descended down over her backyard, five in the morning. I lowered myself and Jasmine slowly, from the heights, to just outside Vicky's bedroom window, settling in the grass. Her Father and herself had built a little enclosure of seven-feet high privacy-fence just around her window area. Remember, her Mother and Father are spiritualists and know of me and my talent. Anyway, so, there is a privacy-fence right around Vicky's bedroom window, and their back yard is heavily treed. So anyway, I lowered myself down, picked up a sleepy Vicky, and flew her home.
Vicky or I just crawl through her window; it is low to the ground, and easily stepped through. I had to rap on her window a number of times to wake her up. Sleepy and bundled up, she came through her window, and settled behind me on Jasmine. From there, I ascended, and flew her home.

On my birthday itself, I stuffed myself with half of my birthday cake. Vicky and I strolled back to the meadows, then got intimate and touchy-feely. We had done like this before, but, I wasn't allowed to tell you until now.

I told Vicky, "Tomorrow, I'm going to that I-79 rest-area, you know, the scenic one we go to lots, and rape a man! You wanna come watch? And maybe participate?"

Vicky, whom I thoroughly bitchized, responded, "You won't really hurt him, will ya? It sounds like fun!"
"Nah, just use him as a masturbation rag. And, I'll let him see us fly off on my carpet!" I giggled a maniacal "Tee hee hee hee", like some kind of witch, then continued, "He'll NEVER tell anyone, who would believe him!?", after which I guffawed a demonic "HAH HAH HAH!"
Sheesh!

Vicky, befouled by my dominant, bitchy personality, giggled an equally witch-like "Tee hee hee hee!"

Vicky then asked, "If I go, what will I do... with him?"
"Well, since you're lighter and sweeter than me, face-sit him, while I drag my guchi over his skinny hip 'till I blast! That's just a suggestion! We'll ad-lib it!"
"All right!" replied Vicky enthusiastically, "When do we go?"
"Can ya spend the night? We'll go tomorrow!"
"Yeah! Yes! I'll call Mom when we get back to the house!"

OH MAN! It's a wonder The Creator didn't de-energize that carpet of mine, dumping both Mistress and disciple bitch-witch to the ground... and further on down, if you know what I mean! She must have a lot of patience...
Yeah! I call The Creator "She"; got a problem with that!!?

So, the next day, sure enough, Vicky and I rolled out of bed, something like ten in the morning. Vicky had slept in my bed, with me, for a few hours just for kicks... Oh, and we were both naked. My bed is only for one person. So later, I moved to her sleeping bag, letting her have my more comfortable bed. I'm tough, I can sleep in the grass outside, if I have to.

We planned to go to that I-79 rest area three-ish in the afternoon, when boys sometimes hang around after school...
Oh, at this point, both Vicky and I were home schooled. Sure enough, at the point of completion of middle school, we switched to home schooling.

Anyway, so, Vicky climbed on Jasmine behind me. She took off her shoes, both to not wear on Jasmine so much, and as respect for that particular carpet, that I suspected more and more, had a spirit in it. And, our shoes, both mine and Vicky's, were stiletto heels, which would be particularly hard on Jasmine.

And yes, I had sorta trained Vicky to dress like me. Both of us wore skimpy, quarter-length tank-tops, micro-skirts, no underwear of course, and stiletto heels. As well, I had her weight training, so, she was getting pretty muscular, like me.

And yet, my little student of bitchiness was and is bolder than me in some ways. Actually maybe, I shouldn't call her "little"; she's five-feet-eleven-and-a-half and 170 pounds; she's no midget.

But anyway, Vicky does bolder things than me. I mention them, but never get the courage to do them. Remember how I said I would like to make my hair crimson red? I ain't done it yet, to this day. Well, Vicky made hers dark-blue. Sometimes, if it's winter and she's clothed except for her face, then she'll wear a very pale type of make-up. She wears four-inch stiletto heels, while I wear only three-inchers. At that time, my hair was just longish, naturally blond. Later I went for all those stacked buns and tail, making me look something like a genie. Vicky's hair is above-shoulder-length and has a simple kind of single wave. I asked grumpy the sysop to paint her when he gets the chance; should prove interesting.

Vicky's micro-skirt is shorter than mine. One wrong, or, should I say, daring, move, and everyone can see her "pleasure-making-equipment". Remember, there's no underwear under our skirts. Our guchies are out there in the fresh air! Her micro-skirt was bright red, mine was a subtle blue. Her tank-top was dark-blue and had sparkles... and skimpier. Mine was just sorta t-shirt-colored.

Well, so, dressed the way we were, and with the totally vile plan we had in our minds, I rolled out Jasmine onto the back-yard's grass. Vicky took off her stiletto heels as did I, and she took up a position behind me, with her arms lightly around my waist, upon Jasmine. The way Vicky does that is so sweet! It's also reminiscent of the way a "biker-chick" might ride, on a motorcycle, behind her man... or maybe a mistress-bitch... as was the case with me.

I willed Jasmine up. I hit an altitude of something like 1000 feet, and took off. Jasmine makes about sixty to seventy miles per hour.

One would think, at sixty miles per hour, the wind would absolutely pulverize our hair. But, due to reasons stemming from whatever is at work here, the wind is greatly reduced. There is only a gentle swirling. Nor, when we accelerate, do we feel much g-force from acceleration... I'm beginning to think, whatever this is, this... this... symbiosis, for lack of a better term, between Jasmine the carpet and me, it is gravity that is being manipulated and focused. Yet, there is no discernible mechanism. Only the fibers of my Persian carpet, and, my impish mind.
And, whatever it is, it is not a-hundred percent me. Remember, if I sit on any other carpet, nothing happens. Yet, if anybody else sits on Jasmine, with, of course, the few exceptions of which Vicky is one, nothing happens. The weirder thing is, I can't even give them a ride! It's like, when most people sit on Jasmine, the system, whatever it is, is negated, even though I sit upon her too!
Hmm, hmm, hmmm! Weird, weird and double, triple weird, that's all I can say.

Well, any WAY... I was not thinking of those things that day. I had an adventuresome, impish plan, my cunt was burning, so was Vicky's, I could tell... well, she told me... and we were off for fun and mayhem.

I fly by the seat of my pants... uh, that should read, by my bare, curvy muscle-butt and exposed pleasure-dome. A recognition of the land as it appears from the air and experience with same, a simple road-map of West Virginia, and a good since of direction, were all the navigational tools I used.

Sixty miles-per-hour and going in a straight line covered considerable distances quickly. The I-79 rest-area of interest, normally would be two hours drive away, on West Virginia's twisting, up-and-down roads. But we flew straight and level. We headed on a bearing of ten degrees (that's northward and ever-so-slightly eastward) over many a beautiful, lush and green, early-summer West Virginia hill, dale and valley.

Strange; I will Jasmine to a given direction and speed, then I can think about and do other things, even sleep.
First thing I did, is stand up, with Vicky still sitting, and peeled off my tank-top and dropped my skirt. Yeah, I was buck-naked, the way I like it.

"You'll have to put those back on when we get there!", remarked Vicky.
"We got an hour. I just want to enjoy it! Why don't you strip too?"

As per suggestion of her wicked Mistress, Vicky did so...

No, not wicked... I protest that term for my simple nudity. That ain't wicked, it's natural. Maybe planning, with will and malice of forethought, to sexually molest a guy was wicked, but my simple nudity; one-hundred-percent natural!

I stretched out, on my back, spread my legs, and enjoyed the sun. I pulled Vicky, a bit unwilling at first, a-top me. She quickly got into it. So the two of us, naked muscle lady against naked muscle lady, lay there and snuggled, most of the trip. Basically, we got ourselves hornier, so that when we got to the rest-area, we'd be even badder!

By and by, we got to the rest area. I sort of felt when we were getting near... communication from a spirit within Jasmine? Or just experience? I don't know... but I was snuggling with Vicky, my guchi was leaking nectar all over the place; well, on Jasmine and Vicky, and somehow, I felt we were near. I broke from my passion, sat up, and sure enough, there it was ahead in the distance, way down there. I began the descent.

These interstate-highway rest-areas; some of them ain't bad! Some qualify as small parks, complete with picnic tables, trails, and several good acres of pristine woods. This particular rest area was especially nice. I took Vicky there lots, and I went there by myself. It protrudes deep into the wilderness of West Virginia, from its side of the interstate. A seven-foot-high chain-link fence is the only indicator of where the rest-area ends and the land in general continues.

Quietly, I willed Jasmine slow, and descending, and quietly settled among the trees, way in the remote, back parts of the rest-area. Vicky had strung on her strip of cloth that she claims is a skirt, and her tank-top. I was still naked. Well, there ain't nobody back there.

Stepping off Jasmine the carpet, we took our heels off with us and wore them. I rolled Jasmine up, and tied her with a piece of bright-red nylon rope. I leaned Jasmine comfortably against a tree, having carefully found a dry spot for the end of her that would be touching the ground. Reluctantly, I wore my clothes. Then, Vicky and I were off to mischief.

I don't know where these guys come from, but a few of them, different ones, almost always come, anywhere from one-P.M. to three-ish. They might be from a high-school, or maybe college. At this point, school was almost out for the summer, just a couple more days, actually.

I have... um, flirted with guys here before, but never molested any.
I stay hidden or, not obvious... that is, I try to be; it's kinda hard when you're a gal who stands six-foot-two at 200 muscular pounds, wearing skimpy clothes. But, anyway, I try to stay in the background, until I find a guy I like. I like slender, fit guys...

You know, that's a little hard to find... a slender, fit guy. Skinny guys are often "fat-thin", skinny, but still with a lot of soft, flabby tissue. It's cause they don't work out. Like the "big-boned-woman" (of which, somewhat, I am), in this society, they tend to give up on themselves physically, because they just don't, in their minds, have a snow-ball's chance in hell of ever being physically appealing... or so they think. You know how this society is; women have got to be built like a collection of twigs, and men have to look like a shaved King Kong the Ape (or sometimes not so shaved).

But from time to time, a skinny man will be encountered, who, like me, bucks the system, and works out to his full, or near-full, potential of being fit and muscular. The muscles of a fit skinny guy are sexy to me, especially if body-hair is minimal. And do I ever love to mess with them!

They also generally tend to be shy, or submissive, which is a turn-on to me. I spurn men, usually apish types, who come on to me. I seek out lone, slender, sweet-looking men.

Well, did Vicky and I ever strike lucky!
We had emerged only some, from the mysterious remote crannies of the rest-area. Coming down a trail, by his sweet self, was something like a six-foot, all of about 140 pounds, willowy, lean muscled guy.
Now, that's what I'm talking about! He obviously works out, and shows it! Man! He had on low-riders, and a simple white, form-fitting tank-top that did not come all the way down to his jeans, leaving an area of lean, sexy tummy visible. Wow! Man! His tummy was skinnier than mine or Vicky's. He had a nice little hump between his legs in front, and a sculpted butt in rear. Wow!

Like two slobbering animals after their prey, Vicky and I came out, literally from hiding in bushes, watching this guy. We saw to it, he was alone. He was obviously a semi-athletic type, like me, just hiking around a beautiful natural area.

He was like a stunned deer in the headlights. He heard the noise of us coming out of the bushes, took one look at us, and froze. I grinned like a wicked old witch. Vicky giggled.

He was the same height as Vicky, had she been bare-footed. But she was on four inch stilettos...
A little annoying detail here that slows down the account, but I have to mention it for sharper readers who might be wondering... Stiletto heels in grass or dirt? Wouldn't they sink through? Well, yes, unless the gal wearing them flexes her calf muscles in order to support the weight on the ball of her foot. Both Vicky and I had well-formed, strong calves anyway, partly from working out, hiking and cycling, and partly from wearing stilettos all the time. And, from wearing such heels all the time, we were well practiced with that particular kind of balance that must be maintained when wearing them. Vicky had it down better than me. That's why she wears four-inchers and I only wear three.

Well, anyway, so where was I... So Vicky was on four inch stilettos which made her way taller than him, plus, she was beefier. Just, more heavily built. He weighed all of 140 pounds, and Vicky weighed 170, worked-out, firm pounds. And of course, there I was, my six-foot-two increased to six-foot-five by three-inch stilettos, and weighing 200 pounds.

That sexy, scrunchable boy was facing two lusting, horny hunks of woman! Both were looking down on him, legs spread, smacking their lips! Sheesh!

It's strange, the conditioning we get from society. A woman facing two lusting men, bigger than her, by herself; that would be scary. But, this guy, though fit, was no match even for Vicky. And I could just toy with him, which is sort of what I had in mind. And he was facing both of us.

This society tends to impart a feeling, that no matter what the circumstances, women are no threat. He was facing two, obviously horny, lusting bitch-types that were clearly stronger than he. And what did he do?
He just began to get a hard-on, I could see it in his tight low-riders, and shyly uttered, "Hi". Mmmm! I coulda eaten him right there!

There were no words for a few seconds while he shyly looked up at us. Vicky giggled, I didn't even crack a smile. I was wracked with libido. Oh, man! I wanted to rape his ass to the ground! Man! I wonder if he could smell it? My cunt was soaked, I could feel it. It was swollen, throbbing, felt hot, and I felt drips of nectar forming on its lips.

Finally, and as I raised my arm up to stroke the back of my head, or pretend to, while seeing to it he saw my seventeen-inch biceps, Vicky softly asked, "We're kinda hiking around, and we're gonna have a picnic. I'd... We'd love it if you joined us!"
And the fly replied to both big, hungry spiders, "Sure, I would enjoy that!"

So, huh! He actually came with us!

As we walked, back towards the remote reaches of the rest-area, Vicky did most of the small talk. She's good at that. I was silent the whole time, wrestling with my libido. And a wet cunt. The secretions began to trickle down my inner thighs. I purposely, quietly fell behind, and searched for something to wipe that off. I grabbed a handful of leaves, but it wasn't very good. Stopped it from trickling though, for a while.

I jogged to catch up... You know, one thing about always walking on the balls of your feet; once one gets accustomed to it (the muscles strengthen for one), it's a better way to walk or, especially, run. One can run faster, smoother. It's the way most animals walk.
Well anyway, I caught up, and heard Vicky say, "There's not enough room in there for that, sweety, let it out!"
And I got there just in time to see Vicky zip down that guy's low-riders and let out a big hunk of throbbing meat! Indeed, those low-riders did NOT leave much room for a hardened one of those! Wow! His dick throbbed over the unbelted top of his jeans. Gosh, man! He doesn't even have to undress!
"Okay, sweety", Vicky purred softly, "Now we can continue".

She led him deep into the remote limits of the rest-area, back to where we had Jasmine rolled up. Indeed, we arrived to that area. The guy's dick continued to throb, as did my cunt.

"You all said, you were going to have a picnic", he innocently asked, "What are we going to have?"

"YOU!" Vicky said.

"YOU!" I said.

And at the same time, in unison!

And that was the first word I had spoken to him in all this time. But, I had more...

"Why don't ya just drop them pants", I sternly suggested.
"Yeah", Vicky said sweetly, "They ain't coverin' anything, I mean, like, your meat's been out throbbin' away for the past several minutes."
"Okay" he said softly, and shyly.

Unzipped already, he just had to undo the clasp, and his jeans were ready to strip. He had to push at them though, to get them past his well-trained quad-muscles in his legs. Mmmm! That looked nice! There he was, bottomless, wearing only a skimpy tank-top.

"I don't know 'bout you, Genie", Vicky said to me, "But I'm strippin' too. This is gonna get messy, and I don't want to mess up these expensive threads".

Indeed, Vicky's micro-skirt and tank-top were expensive brands and types. My were more... common-place in make and material. Vicky dropped her band of cloth that was her skirt, peeled off her tank-top, and kicked off her heels.

Vicky stepped behind him and held him around his skinny waist, and pointed out to me, "Look at that, Genie, it's what you like! A skinny, bony hip! You wanna do it?"
"Mmmm" I could only moan.

That boy, I'm tellin' ya... He just... He didn't fear anything. Or, at least it didn't look like it.

"Get down here, boy!", Vicky urged, pulling the boy down and pushing him onto his back, in the grass and weeds, "We both got the juice, and we're gonna work it out! Hey Genie, I got some condoms! You wanna go down on his meat?"
"You brought condoms? Wow! Uh, maybe... No, I'll do his hip. You go down on his meat!"
"With pleasure!" she emphatically said. Vicky continued, "You do his hip first".
"You ladies sure you wanna do this?", the boy asked, from the ground where Vicky was holding him.
"PLAP!" resounded a slap in his face from Vicky. "NEVER call us ladies! We're bitches! Got it!?"
"Yes ma'am!" he replied timidly.
"Yes! That's more like it!", Vicky encouraged.

Sheesh! The student knows more than her teacher. She brought condoms, she gave him a line of sweet talk, expertly lured him in, and now got him trained. Wow! And to think I was going to go by myself. I have before. It's more fun with Vicky, especially this time! Actually, I was really learning from her. I taught her the physical stuff; the weight-training, the clothes, going without underwear, but, Vicky's taking over with the finer skills.

And, about going down on his throbbing chunk of eager flesh, I actually shied away from it. Actually, for all my bluster, bitchiness, and even, size and strength, I've never, up to that point, let a dick in me. In fact, I believe, at that time, my hymen was possibly still in tact, unless I broke it myself during my many masturbations.

Well, whatever. I stood over him and then squatted down over him, and he was looking at me like, "what the hell!". I turned him partially on his side, so I could feed his hip-bone protrusion to my hungry cunt. I lowered my slobbering guchi on his hip and let "her" have at it. Vicky squatted down to the side of him, and sort of leaned on his, not big, but firm, shapely chest and helped hold him in a partially turned position. While assisting me in that manner, she felt over him with relish, like, her hands were all over him.

He was helpless. A huge 200-pound, horny amazon was a-top him, essentially using him for masturbation, while another, smaller amazon held him in place... and copped feel after feel.

As I humped away, huffing and puffing, building up to a blast, I think I heard Vicky ask him, "Sweety, you want a little nectar?"
"What do you mean?", he asked, now in a quivering voice.
"Well, like this...", Vicky replied as she moved over to his head, and squatted over it. Gently, she sorta face-sat him, although not full-out. She didn't put any weight on it. Just kind of made "it available" for his sucking pleasure... which he didn't.

Now, get that scene, man... There was Vicky, buck naked, squatting over this sexy, skinny guy's face, and there was I, still wearing my micro-skirt and tank-top, dragging my cunt up and down over his hip. With me squatting like that, my micro-skirt was way up, out of the way.

I was sort of face-to-face with Vicky. Suddenly, she gave me a quick kiss on my forehead as it bobbed up and down from my humping.

Finally, I felt my guchi let go, and I let it go!" Huffing, screeching and thrusting hard, I cummed a mess of stuff on his hip that I couldn't believe myself. For a few seconds, I couldn't even see! Good heavens a-mercy, that felt good! Oooo! What a relief!

Vicky couldn't wait. She wiped off the larger amounts of my cum from his side with some leaves, let him back down all the way on his back, rolled on a condom onto his meat, got over him and helped herself!

At this point, the boy began intense moaning as did Vicky. They both blasted pretty close together. Vicky huffed and squealed loudly, resounding in the forest. Gees! I wonder if it was heard. Later, Vicky reported I fairly bellowed when I blasted.

The boy was lost in pleasure and contentment. Never did he seem really worried. He seemed maybe just a tad resistive to having a wet guchi in his face.
Vicky rolled onto her back, and with her legs spread, just enjoyed the contentment, as was I.

Orgasms seem to knock men out more than women, so, he was still relaxing when Vicky stirred saying, "Well Genie, we got to go. You know, we gotta prepare the spell..."

She was having a little fun. She was speaking in a kind of hissing voice. She actually was going to let him see us take off on Jasmine.

By the way, all this took place with Jasmine right there, just away a few feet, leaning on the tree. The boy may or may not have noticed her. After all, just a rolled up carpet, just sitting there quietly? With two big horny bitches down on him, I don't think he even noticed it.

In my usual, less-bold way, I asked, "Should we do this?"
"Of course, sister!", Vicky hissed, like a stereo-typical witch, "we have to go!"

Vicky stepped over to Jasmine, brought her down and untied the red rope to let her roll out. Then Vicky hissed, "So now, Great Genie, exert your powers! Take us away! I have his address, so we can find him! Hee hee hee hee hee!"

By now, that boy was taking notice. He groped around for his jeans. He began to stand up. He backed up a few paces. Watching us, he wiggled into his low-riders, having difficulty getting them past his thigh muscles. He never did strip his skimpy little tank-top. Mmmm! I coulda humped him again!

Vicky gathered her two little bits of clothing and her heels and placed them on Jasmine. I placed my heels on Jasmine, and took my place. Vicky sat behind me, and tenderly put her arms around my waist, leaned forward and laid her head on my back. That felt so sweet...

Then Vicky sat straight a moment to command, "Great Genie! Take us away!"
And, I did.

I willed Jasmine up. That boy's eyes bugged out like a dyin' calf! The two of us sat upon that carpet, and we slowly ascended, quietly, steadily. What made it worse, for him, it was getting kind of dark. It was due to a combination of lowering sun because of late afternoon, and the sun was behind a bank of clouds.

That boy, now spell-bound, watched us ascend, up along the trees, then over the trees, and on way up. I kept looking down as I also willed Jasmine to the side so I could see around Jasmine to watch him. We rose on up to about a thousand feet, and then took off.

Vicky giggled and laughed uncontrollably. I laughed to.

"Wow, Genie! That was FUN!!!", was Vicky's simple, direct, emphatic pronouncement of this afternoon's activities. And it was!

We laughed and giggled, and went over time and time again, what happened. As it turned out, Vicky did indeed get his address and email. She didn't write it down, but she didn't have to. She remembers stuff like a computer's memory-bank. She gave a fake address and email to him when he asked. HAH HAH HAH! What a bitch! Not only have I trained her well, she's surpassing me!

Well! So went a totally fun, exciting blast of a day! And, the first sexual thingy that I'll be relating to you.

Now, one more little twist, an unexpected icing on that day's cake of fun...

None other than on Coast To Coast AM, did someone call in during that first hour of "open-phones" that they have, and report something fantastic...
People call in with all manner of paranormal occurrences. They report UFOs, ghosts, shadow people, big-foot, orbs and so on. Some callers sound like they're on drugs or something, or maybe drunk. But some sound quite believable. Well, this caller, and I had to listen a couple times to recognize him, reported, "I encountered, in the deep woods, two big, strong women who sexually accosted me and, after they were through, rode off on a flying carpet!". He further said, one may have been a witch, and the other, a real genie. George Noory, the host of the show, said he's never heard a report of a real flying carpet. The caller further said, "I'm a little worried; they got my address, and might return!"
"Try to get a photo!", George Noory urged.

Oh man! Did Vicky and I ever roll around in laughter when I played that tape for her. My goodness!

In the usual manner, I did not hear it live. No, it was the next day. I was out in the meadow, doing my weight-lifting, listening, as I described before, to my own two-watt a.m. radio station that broadcasts our automatically-done-recording of the show. So, the thing is, my Mom heard it too! She KNEW what he was talking about.

Mom tried to be serious, but she kept laughing too. She urged me to never do anything like that again, to always use a condom, and lectured me on the importance of not using my Creator-Granted skill for something so frivolous. Finally, after I copied it off on another tape for Vicky, and after promises that, after letting Vicky, and no one else, hear it, that I would erase the tape, Mom then erased the portion with that particular caller on it so that Dad would not hear it later, when he listened to the show.

Sheesh! Good grief! I think that many readers would not want to live in such a family. Then again, maybe some would! I know I love it!

All right! So there went the first adventure that I'll relate to you, but, it was not the first for me. But, any thing that happened before... I didn't tell you!

Well, after that, let's see... I really want to get to the trip where I can relate a plethora of adventures, sexy, and otherwise. Think of it as a road-trip by flying carpet.

Okay, some stuff that happened before the trip; after all, the trip did not take place until I was 25...

It took me a while to complete high-school as a home schooler. Vicky finished first, and finally I did, when I was almost 20. So, better late than never, and I think I got a better rounded education than most, thanks to my adventures. I certainly was good at geography and map-reading.

I got into all sorts of miscellaneous this and that. One thing I did with Mom, is hypnotize people to explore past lives, and possibly discover spirit attachments. Mom got quite good. I was in and out, getting into adventures. Mom allowed this. She knew it was going to be a while before I settled, in part because of my high-energy, adventuresome personality, and in part due to the temptations offered by my talent.

That little adventure above was certainly not the last. Vicky and I molested a lot of men in those years between the above adventure and "the trip". We were more careful to keep Jasmine the carpet out of sight, though.

Jasmine the carpet effected my life in some key ways. For one thing, I never learned to drive. I was able to go anywhere by carpet! My Mom pointed out a couple important things however, dependability and stealth.

Using my carpet was subject somewhat to weather. But, where does one park a carpet? Hmm...
Interesting, odd little situation, but thornier than one would think...

First of all, there's the "shock-factor". I was always having to be cautious of people seeing me. In a way, it's easy. People hardly ever look up. Evolving to a species that weighs generally in the 150- to 250-pound range, humans do not have to keep their eyes peeled on the sky for an attack from a hawk or eagle, as do, say, mice or rabbits. So humans go about their day, busy, never noticing the sky except during moments of relaxation or maybe, while waiting.
Add to that, I am very small for a flying object, and undetectable by radar. So, nobody and no machine notices me. It is only a concern when I descend.

Suppose I go to a clothing store to buy heels, tank-top or micro-skirt, or maybe make-up, or some such thing. I go there, at an elevation of like, 500 to 1000 feet. Then, when directly over the store, I slowly descend. Silence is on my side at least. Jasmine makes absolutely no sound. As I descend, I scan the area for two things; for places where there are no people, usually the back of the store, and, for possible muggers who might be hiding. Okay, I am six-feet-two, and weigh 200 pounds and all of it fit, so I'm as strong as a man that size. But, just like the man, he can be surprised, or ganged up on. Or the mugger might have a gun or a knife. So, that's something I scan for, from the air.

Alright, once that's been done, and I land, then, what to do with Jasmine? I roll her up, and tie her with a piece of red nylon rope. But, where do I put her? She's a very expensive, authentic Persian carpet. Even without the magic, she's worth a couple thousand bucks. I've come up with all sorts of things. One thing I could NOT make happen, though I tried, is possibly, to get Jasmine to hover in the air, out of reach, and hidden from people. Like, if only I could get her to hover, oh, over the roof of the store, about six feet. That would put her out of reach. But, no. When I step off of her, she becomes just another rug. Imagine the comical scene, a chick repeatedly ordering a rug to "rise, RISE", and nothing happening. Would be worth at least a few chuckles.

In some cases, there is just no solution. It depends on the store and it's layout. The solution varies with the characteristics of the destination.

There is one store where I do indeed land on the roof, then, using my physical prowess, jump to a tree and climb down. Returning to go, I climb that tree to fairly high over the roof, and take a jump to the roof-top. I don't recommend that to anyone but physical giants like me!
At another store, I land, roll and tie Jasmine, then carry her up a tree and lodge her up there, more or less hidden. Since it takes every bit of my height and strength to climb the tree and carry her up there, I am assuming no one else will be able to do it, at least, not in the time allotted.
Like many folks, I like to browse in a store. But I can't. I have to have a "target" decided on, then go in the store like a commando raid, acquire and pay for the item, and rush back out. I keep hearing the stereotype, that's how men always do it. I don't know about that. I've seen men browse.

I sometimes hang an alarm-transmitter to the rope that ties Jasmine, so I will be alerted if someone disturbs it. More than once the alarm has sounded, causing me to rush frantically out of the store, only to see that some bird is pecking at the shiny transmitter.

Some of this stuff would be comical if made for television. When I go running frantically out of a store, remember, I'm six-feet-two, weigh 200 pounds, muscular, probably wearing a very tiny skirt with no underwear and a skimpy tank-top. When I go charging out like that, it is the combination of a charging buffalo and a sex-show. And, I'm often wearing three-inch stiletto heels. If so, I either lose one or both of them, or I stumble. That has got to be comical to see.

Sometimes Vicky goes with me. If so, one of us can go in the store, while the other stands watch over Jasmine. Then we switch places. Problem with that though, is, the point of going with a friend, is to enjoy her company while we shop 'til we drop!
Nah, sometimes I just fly Jasmine to Vicky's house, roll Jasmine up and put her in Vicky's room, and then I sit as a passenger in Vicky's car and she drives us the rest of the way, usually a short distance, to the store. That kinda works out, anyway. Jasmine takes down the lion's share of the distance, while Vicky uses a polluting car for just a few miles.

It was this manner of commuting that I used, when I began dancing... erotic dancing, that is... wouldn't ya know it.

Yes, yes, with a body like mine, and love of showing off, it was bound to happen. I... didn't tell my parents about it, so don't you tell them! Hmm... if they run across and read this...
Well anywho!

The dancing was usually only two to three days a week; Thursday, Friday and Saturday nights. In most cases, I arrived at the night-club or whatever about 9 P.M., and left it at, like, 2 A.M.
Many of these types of places are in the country, near the city they "serve". That and being at night made it easier for me to deal with Jasmine. For arrival, at one club, I landed on the roof, rolled up Jasmine, placed her in a plastic covering, and placed her under an air-conditioning unit. Then I climbed down a tree that was next to the building, similar to that one store I mentioned.

I tended to be popular with some of the other dancers, others were extremely jealous. For the ones who were friends, I had to hem and haw at leaving, and find a chance to sneak off, run to the back, climb the tree and take off.

At another club, I actually managed to take Jasmine in with me. I explained to the manager-gal, "A friend of mine left this Persian carpet with me while she is over-seas for a couple years. My house is not very secure, and my car-doors don't lock. So may I store this in, say, a janitor's closet or something, each night I come?" She looked at me a bit askance, but agreed, "okay".

And there was a restaurant where I worked as a nude waitress during the daytime. It was a small, old building next to other buildings and mature trees. I was able to employ the land-on-roof-climb-tree method of arrival, and reverse of said method for leaving. The waitressing was from 11 A.M. to 3 P.M.

Rainy weather is a thorny problem. I have been stuck in rain. I do not like to let Jasmine get wet, that worries me. Also, that business of her not being able to fly over water makes me nervous. When stuck in rain, most of the rain is deflected by whatever the field is that deflects most of the wind. But some gets on her anyway. Controlling her becomes unstable, and slow to respond. At night, that really makes me nervous.

One time, three in the morning, I was headed home, and I saw this monster storm coming. I simply found an overpass, landed and waited out the storm in a hidden spot, under the overpass. I kept Jasmine rolled out. If a mugger appeared, I would simply raise and levitate, right there, under the bridge. Actually happened once! He saw that, and went screaming out of there, never mind the driving rain. Hah hah! Serves that dick-head right!

A few other times, I flew over the storm. That was something. I was gasping for air up there. It took a surprising amount of altitude to clear the storm. Even at that, I found a "pass", between two towers of storm head. Boy, that's freaky looking at night! When the storm-clouds light up with lightning, it resembles a hideous, glowing jelly-monster with nerves of writhing, forking lightning. Eeesh! NOT fun!

A sharp reader might also think to ask, on my commutes, what would I do if I had to cross bodies of water, like, say, rivers? Okay, I'm in a hurry to get past this in-between part. I will get into that in the section about my trip to see Red Moose, coming up shortly.

I got to where I would watch closely, the weather forecasts. I checked in with pilots' sources of weather data, it's better than television forecasts. If there was good chance of storms, I just wouldn't go.

And I could throw my weight around at those clubs and that restaurant, cause I was GOOD! I had those men groveling at my feet! Made great money. So the management put up with my absences. Besides, it teased the audience. Sometimes I was there, sometimes not. It also slowed down the process where the audience becomes, sorta like, tired of, the same dancer.
At the restaurant, I was asked for by name. At the restaurant and the clubs, I was usually known as "The Great Genie".

A lot of those silly gooses, the other dancers, got into drugs and stuff to help them have the "courage" to dance. Nah! I didn't need that! I'd go out onto that stage and writh around like a beast in heat, and even cummed a few times, masturbated, right in front of them. Management told me not to do that! Stodgy old fuddy duddies! Anyway, I sure didn't need no drugs. I wasn't going to let that crap in my beautiful body anyway! Also, some would slide into prostitution which makes a lot more money. Nuh-uh! NOT for me! I'm not letting one of those slimy pigs in my gorgeous body! I'm very selective on who I let in there. You will see, coming up, in the section about "The Trip".

I talked Vicky into dancing, and brought her a few times. She found the night time flying very unnerving. First time she saw one of those jelly-monster storms, she freaked and never came again. She drove there, but took too long. All the clubs were pretty far away, even in straight-line, traffic-free, stop-light free flying. Besides, she had been studying and doing regression hypnosis on clients with my Mom. Vicky then entered college to become a psychiatrist, so she could apply her hypnosis in combination with psychology. Hmm, not a bad idea. So anyway, she ended up not dancing very long. But the men went wild over her.

Okay, okay, enough of that in-between stuff.
So that above, essentially, was my life for some years up to late summer of when I became 25. The dancing provided enough money to: Build a small but cozy house, on the same hundred or so acres but a few thousand feet away from my parents, buy a velomobile and have it shipped from Germany, where they are made (it's a human-powered car, essentially, and they're only made in Europe), replace my aging weight equipment, helped Vicky buy a car, helped Vicky with money for college, and all sorts of other stuff. I didn't save much; for shame, for shame. Oh well.
And, I had more than enough money for my trip.

Via Coast To Coast AM broadcasts, and networking with other spiritualists on the Internet, and other avenues, I got to know a spiritualist and traditional American Indian, who is part Metis Indian and Irish himself. He wanted to see me and my Jasmine the carpet. He said there were others, particularly an Indian lady, who wanted to see this phenomenon too. Up to that point, I had been messing around, just enjoying life. But surely, The Creator would like me to do something more, with this unusual talent. I thought, maybe he, or his company, might be able to direct me or something.

The trip was planned during the summer, and I took off about early September. I would, of course, go by Jasmine, the carpet. Mom was a bit cautious about that, but after I explained the conservative way I would travel; daylight hours only, every night in a hotel, stay over in a hotel in case of storms to let them pass, she agreed. Dad seemed confident that I knew what I was doing.

All right, readers, I'm gonna do it this way: I'm going to relate the experience of the trip, from the vantage point of having already arrived to Red Moose's place, and I'm in his, sorta like, living room; he has a combined room for kitchen and living room, like my parents' house. Indeed, he did set aside the time, and as part of exploring this phenomenon, I described the trip, including a flat-out honest relating of the types of sexual shenanigans I got into. I also described phenomenon seen in flight, some odd things that happened, and the problem I had crossing large bodies of water. One comes to mind right away; the Mississippi River, when I flew over St. Louis. There were many other rivers, an annoying many.

Okay then, what I'm gonna do now is, link you on to the next web-page of this account. Once again, this present page is getting too long...
DAM! I had no idea this story was gonna get this long! Sheesh! It was all going to be about the trip. But I had to lay out the early stuff and supporting background situation.
Well, anywho, now it IS going to be about the trip! So, click the link below,

Trip To Washington to see Red Moose
Gosh, long title!
Okay, see ya!

Well, here's another email-chance.
As you can see, I'm getting impatient with all this preliminary stuff. But some was kinda interesting, especially that part where Vicky and I practically raped a guy. Gees, that was fun!
Again, it might be best to read on before emailing. Many more problems of flight with... a carpet... will be presented along with my ways to tackle them.
For obvious reasons, I want to keep my identity, actual location (it may or may not be West Virginia), and things like that a secret. Use this site's email. Say that it's for "Genie", and Grumpy the Sysop will relay it to me.

Comments so far? This is the email link.
But heed the warnings! Dumb-ass emails will not be tolerated!

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