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The Smoking Woman By Amber S Copyright 2003 Amber S CHAPTER I This day could not possibly get worse, Jamie thought to himself as he walked sullenly out through the mall. He'd been written up at work for being late, the third time in two months. He'd explained about the line at the Bursar's office, but Elaine had had little sympathy. "It's always something, Jamie." She had said, obviously frustrated with him. "I had to keep Lisa an extra hour to cover you. She's got commitments, too. You're what, twenty-four, Jamie? Either you're reliable, Jamie, or I'll have to give your hours to someone who is." Once more, his boss had warned, and it would be his job. Chris was already paying more than his share of the bills as it was. Jamie was falling behind in two of his classes and still had to start his Econ paper. It was due in two days. Maybe he could coax another extension out of the professor. Unfortunately, after six years of undergraduate work, he was now notorious for his lack of organization. He couldn't see Feldman granting him an extension. He just couldn't seem to get a handle on things. He wasn't sure what exactly was wrong with him. Things just seemed to slip by or get forgotten. He was almost to the parking lot doors when he noticed an unfamiliar storefront and a beautiful woman exiting it. It wasn't so much a storefront as an elaborate door with an old-fashioned wooden sign hanging above it. 'Spells-R-Us' was all it said. Amazing how quickly stores came and went. He'd worked at the nutrition store in the mall for almost a year and had never noticed the door before. His curiosity about it faded quickly in appreciation of the customer walking toward the doors just a few paces ahead of him. He slowed his pace a bit, not wanting to overtake her. Her body was stunning. Swaying hips were encased in a form fitting skirt that fell just below her knees. Her ass was full without looking plump and swung like a metronome or a perhaps more appropriately, a hypnotists' watch. Long blond hair fell in a cascade between slightly broad shoulders and down to the middle of her back. She wore a black blazer cinched a bit to accent her slim waist. She carried a product bag slung over one shoulder that bounced lightly off her hip with each unhurried stride. They reached the mall entrance all too quickly. As she opened the first of the double set of glass doors, she glanced back and catching his eye gave him a quick smile. His heart leapt into his throat. At the second set of doors she paused and held it for him. "Thanks." He managed to stammer. "My pleasure," she replied in a voice like smoky amber. He walked slowly out ahead of her, fumbling for reason to talk to her more. There was a bus stop at this entrance, and even though his car was parked just fifty feet away, he angled off a few paces toward the bus shelter and paused before looking back for her. She was just lighting a cigarette. It was fully dark out and the flame of her slim metallic lighter cast her features in the soft light of some film noir starlet. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the empty pack he knew to be there. He opened it and made a small sigh, pretending to be surprised to see it empty. When he looked up again he found the woman watching him with a slightly crooked smile. On her it made her look even more beautiful, if perhaps a bit wicked. She looked to be a few years older than him, maybe thirty, but it was difficult to tell in the darkness. She drew deeply on her cigarette, the bright red cherry at it's tip casting smooth features in deep sultry shadows. Jamie's stomach rolled over. A woman hadn't affected like this for a very long time. He had come to accept, at least partially, leanings in the other direction. Never the less, he was floored by her. "Excuse me," he said trying to sound casual. "Could you spare a cigarette? I'm all out. I've been trying to quit, but..." "Certainly." She murmured amicably. "I doubt it's your brand, and menthol besides." Jamie got his feet moving and walked over to her. "No problem, I'd smoke just about anything right now. It's been one of those days." "Really? Me too, I just missed a sale." He wondered what it was she was selling that anyone could say no to. She could sell ice to Eskimos with nothing but her smile. She drew out a cigarette so that the filter stuck up from the rest and held out the pack to him. When he took it their hands brushed for an instant so that he stood there for a few seconds, aware only of her soft features and the slight spark reflected in her deep dark eyes. "Don't forget to breathe." She said wryly. Blushing deeply and feeling like a complete idiot he pulled the cigarette out and offered the pack back. Nonplussed she held up the lighter. "Keep the pack, Casanova. I'm a sales rep for the company. Like I said, it's not your brand but you might get to like them." He slipped the tip of the long unusually thin cigarette into the bright gas flame of the lighter. He drew and his mouth and lungs filled with the light liquid sensation of smoke. It tasted strange, almost sweet. He exhaled then drew on it again. The smoke was somehow more substantial than his brand and the aroma was mild and earthy. He exhaled. "Wow, what are these?" "Do you like them? It's a private company with limited distribution. We do most of our business through mail order, internet, or through direct sales by reps like me." "Carolina Blossoms?" "Our marketing is geared almost exclusively to women, though we do frequently offer packs to men. We have a high quality and very unusual product. Males who try them are more often than not transformed into loyal customers." The cigarette was really very good, far better than his brand. The taste was mellow and tasted faintly of peach he decided, but was substantial in a quality unlike a few of the women's brands he'd tried when he ran out of cigarettes at parties. It was hard to tell in the poor light, but it seemed that the color of the smoke even had a rosy or perhaps amber tinge. "Anyway, I've got to run. I have a dinner with a Canadian client of mine. She's just come into town and I don't want to be late." She dug into her bag and pulled out another pack. "Here's another complementary pack and my card. If you like them and would like to order more, feel free to give me a call anytime." He took the card from her and shook her hand. It was soft and warm and she lingered an extra moment in the handshake, blinding him with a pearly smile. "I get into the city here once or twice a month. There's a price list on our website, it's listed on the card as well. If you don't order through me, though, I'd appreciate it if you referenced my name on the order. I get a bit of a commission that way." "Great, I... uh... just might do that." "Wonderful. Listen, I've really got to run, enjoy the cigarettes and don't forget to read the pack." "Right." He glanced down. 'Carolina Blossoms' it said. It was peach and a pale green with lettering in some art deco font. There was a flashy graphic of a retroish 1940's scene in a pavilion or something. Below it read '100% tobacco flavored with our secret blend of herbals and cured by ancient method.' He glanced over the surgeon generals warning and noticed the tax stamp on the bottom. The pack was long and thin to accommodate the style of cigarette most popular among women. He'd seen a dozen brands just like it. When he looked up again, she was halfway across the parking lot. Damn, he'd never even asked her name! He flipped over the card. 'Yvonne Destrier - carolina sta inc. ? licensed sales associate' there was a cell phone number and a web address below. He drew deeply on the cigarette again. He couldn't put his finger on it. There was something more... more... sensual about it than he'd ever experienced smoking before. It had always been a guilty pleasure, but now it was somehow decadent. He felt suddenly foolish, savoring the smoke like some... some... oh nevermind. He took one more quick drag before tossing the butt, half smoked, to the ground and stepping it out. He pocketed the packs and headed for his car. CHAPTER II Chris slipped his key into the lock and opened the door. The room was filled with pale amber smoke. It hung in the air like a heavy aromatic cloud. Jamie was smoking in the apartment again, that much was clear. It didn't smell like cigarettes or cigars, though. More like the sweet musty sent of pot, but sort of fruity instead. He thumped his backpack down in the entryway and kicked off his shoes on the rug. He refused to get angry. The smoke smelled kind of nice, actually, but he didn't want to be smelling it on all his clean clothes for the next week. He'd had this discussion with Jamie half a dozen times over the past two years. Jamie was having a bad day, no doubt. He sighed and stepped into the living room. There was Jamie, sitting in the sofa watching TV instead of working on his Macro Economics paper which Chris knew was due Thursday. "Hey, Chris!" Jamie said sounding chipper rather than sullen as he had expected. "Sorry about the smoke. It's been a rough day and..." "We said no smoking in the apartment, Jamie. Why didn't you go outside?" Chris went to the patio door and slid it open despite the cool autumn air. "Or open a window?" "I know, I know. I was just going to have one, but... Well I had the TV on and time just got away from me. Besides it's freezing out there." The smoke moved in lazy swirls as the outside air encroached into the room. It was in the lower fifties outside. Chris had walked home from work wearing just a light coat. As always, he couldn't really be mad a Jamie. He sat down next to him on the sofa. "What kind of cigarettes are they? They don't smell so bad." Jamie grimaced. "Carolina Blossoms." Chris looked dubious. "I know, I know. I got them from this totally hot chick outside the mall. She sells them over the internet. They're really pretty good, but definitely chick cigarettes. Want one?" Chris never smoked, but Jamie never stopped offering. He said he was just being polite. For some reason he was tempted this time, but good sense won out as usual and he declined. "I've got to work on my light study." "Oils?" Jamie took a pull off a pale green bottle of beer. "No, watercolor." He was about to say more when he became captivated by the bottle after Jamie set it back onto the coffee table. It seemed to glow and sparkle, the green glass catching the soft glow of the hall light. The flicker of the TV cast a certain motion upon it all as the pale amber mist of the smoke wreathed it in sinuous coils. Suddenly inspired he jumped up and slid the door shut onto the patio. "What are you doing?" Jamie clicked off the TV. "Look at all this smoke, the color of it, it's fantastic! It'll make for a great light study! Do you mind smoking a couple of those in my room?" "Artists." Jamie just shook his head. "Sure, grab an ashtray, I'm going to get my laptop and work on my Econ paper. I've smoked half a pack today, what's a few more." "Make some coffee, too. I'm going to get set up." Chris grabbed the ashtray and made for his bedroom. Jamie took his time making the coffee. He liked it strong and fresh, so he used the six-cup French press. He dumped a considerable portion of coffee Chris had ground that morning into the glass container after throwing the teapot onto the stovetop. He brushed a strand of hair from his eyes and grabbed a couple of mugs from the cupboard. Time to get a haircut. It'd only been six weeks or so since his last one. He should have at least a month more before it got out of hand. Strange. He walked to his room, stepping over the random piles of clothes and books which started at the threshold of his room. Chris was sort of anal and picked up everywhere else or the whole apartment would've been a pit. It took him several minutes to find his laptop. It lay buried under a sweatshirt and a pair of jeans on the end table next to his bed. Fortunately his Macroeconomics text was right beneath it or he'd have spent another ten minutes finding that. Scooping them up he headed back to the kitchen where the teapot was just beginning to sing. Brushing aside a box of cereal, he set them on the countertop and turned off the gas. He lifted the stainless steel pot from the stove and catching his reflection in its surface paused. Something wasn't right. He turned the pot this way and that, examining his features on its smooth curved surface. His features looked subtly wrong somehow. He gazed at it for a few seconds then shrugged. Just the distortion from the curve. He poured the water into the French press and stirred with a chopstick. Chris hated that he used the chopsticks, but Jamie always forgot, besides, they worked perfectly. He slipped the top on and grabbed the mugs in one hand, the press in the other. Walking into Chris' room, the feeling of some indefinable difference nagged at him. Chris' room was neat and orderly. Art supplies lined the wall on shelves and peg board. Everything was in place, including the still life arrangement of books, pen and ink, fruit, and two marble busts of Plato and Aristotle. It sat on a table near Chris' picture window. The curtains were drawn against the dark and the warm light of an overhead incandescent lamp cast shadows on the piece. Chris was busily arranging his paints and sketchbook on the worktable next to it. Chris set the coffee and mugs on the end table next to his roommates' neatly made bed and went back to the kitchen for his laptop, unnoticed. Puzzled, he altered his gait a bit. Was that it? He did seem to be a bit off balance. His old knee injury had been acting up a bit lately, but there was no pain or pressure right now. Shrugging, he grabbed his laptop and book and returned Chris' room, snagging the half smoked pack of Carolina Blossoms off the sofa and a small flask of bourbon on the way. "Perfect!" Chris exclaimed upon his return. "See, there's a bit of smoke in the air from earlier. It softens the light on marble and the boards of the books. Go ahead and light up but try not blow the smoke directly over here. Let it waft naturally." Jamie pulled up a chair and turned on the laptop. "Where's the ashtray?" "Oh, in the bathroom." Chris made no move to retrieve it. Jamie sighed but he never could be really annoyed with his roommate. Chris was self centered, but didn't mean to be. It was endearing in a way. Chris got carried away with his art, forgetting all else. He felt a muddle of affection and jealousy for his roommate. It was one of his more frequent distractions, and something he was sure Chris was unaware of. Over his five years of college, Jamie had been moving slowly but inevitably away from women and into clandestine relationships with men. He had a kind of helpless charm that seemed to work equally well with men and women. While he found his experiences with women somewhat satisfying, there was a heedy thrill of sex with a man that kept pulling him back. He had no thought of coming out, because he wasn't entirely sure that he was gay. Case in point was blonde from the mall. In truth though, he did have a bit of a crush on Chris. Not that he was ever likely to admit to it or share that with his roommate. He couldn't imagine risking alienating his best friend by making some sort of misguided pass at him. Sighing, he pulled a bright white cigarette out of the pack and lit it on the way to the bathroom. The ashtray was there, where Chris had left it on the sink next to the toilet. He set the smoke down in the tray and flipped the door shut with his foot before unzipping his jeans and standing in front of the toilet. There was a mirror just over the sink next to him. Seeing his reflection again, and this time with more clarity, gave him pause. Something was different. He stood and pissed and considered himself. "Is something different about me?" Jamie asked. He was standing in the doorway, holding a lit cigarette in one hand, the ashtray in the other. "Hmmmn..." Chris took a quick glance then went back to the burnt sienna. "I don't know, are you growing your hair out?" "Not really, c'mon Chris, look. Is anything else different?" Chris sighed and turned fully on his chair. Chris' stance was slightly different, he could see that right away. His hips were cocked to one side and his shoulders square and back. It was an unusual position for Jamie who was had notoriously bad posture. There was more than that though. His hair was a touch longer than he remembered, true, but it also seemed a shade or two lighter. That would be a trick of the light and smoke, no doubt. "You've lost weight." That didn't seem quite right either. In fact Jamie seemed altogether slighter, smaller, perhaps even shorter despite his improved posture. "I've haven't been trying to. Is that it?" Jamie paced into the room and stood almost directly in front of Chris. "Really? Is that it?" This close, he couldn't help but notice how Jamie's nipples stood out a bit under his light shirt. They seemed very thick and slightly raised, but he wasn't about to mention this. Jamie was touchy enough about his sexuality as it was. "What else have you been smoking?" he said, trying to lighten the mood. "Listen, Jamie, get to work on your paper. Smoke. I need to finish this light study, you need to finish your paper. You've lost a little weight, that's it." He spun on his chair and went back to the Sienna. Jamie sighed and nodded. He turned his laptop on and poured the coffee while it came up. He added a generous portion of bourbon to his cup while he waited. Chris' he left undoctored. The smoke from his cigarette mingled with the steam from the mug when he set it in front of Chris. "Ahhh, did you see that?! This is going to be great! Thanks for helping me out, Jamie." He leaned over his still life, examining it from all directions, trying to see it anew. In fact, he had painted, sketched, and inked the same arrangement fifty or more times this semester. He knew it far better than his roommates' appearance. Jamie sat and smoked. He sipped at his steaming hot coffee and stared at the blank page his laptop displayed. He waited for inspiration to grip him as it had his roommate. He smoked. And smoked. And smoked. CHAPTER III Chris glanced at the clock. Six hours had passed since he and Jamie had first sat down. He glanced over to where his roommate sat, head pillowed on his arms, sound asleep. His screensaver, a slow montage of space shots from the Hubble, had kicked in long ago. He had his light study, that was certain. He doubted Jamie had made much progress on his Macro paper. Chris had few illusions about Jamie's scholarly ability. Fewer that Jamie did, anyway. It was only a matter of time until they suspended him or he dropped out. He'd been on academic probation for more than a year, after all. Jamie was a good guy, and not really untalented, just unmotivated. He felt somehow responsible for him. Jamie didn't really need taking care of, and Chris certainly wasn't inclined to do it. He liked Jamie well enough, but sometimes he got the feeling that Jamie was interested in more. "Wake up, Jamie. Come on, dude. It's three in the morning." Jamie was laying on his arms, face to one side. His hair was longer than he had remembered. Longer it had seemed only hours ago, in fact. He really did look different too. His face, even pressed into the crook of one elbow, appeared softer in feature, more refined in structure, and his complexion seemed more even, though paler. Chris shook his head a bit to clear it and brushed back his own hair which hours ago he had let out of the pony tail he usually wore it in. He sat on the bed not far from his sleeping roommates chair and studied him. The lines of his body were clearly wrong. He'd done enough time in Life Study to recognize classic female lines even clothed and hunched sleeping over a desk. A bit unnerved by the unusual changes in his roommate, Chris decided to leave him where he was. He'd wake with a stiff neck, but nothing worse. How could he have been so blind? Jamie would have to have been taking hormones for a long time to exhibit changes like the ones he could finally see now. Was that what the display in the bathroom door had been all about? Did Jamie want him to notice? If so, what did he want? Recognition? Acceptance? Something more? He'd long suspected his friends' leanings. Chris had no problem with that, though he was certainly not inclined in that direction. For his part Jamie had never many any overtures toward Chris, overt or otherwise. Until now? Chris coughed a little and noticed how much of the smoke still hung in the room. Jamie had smoked his last cigarette hours ago, and yet the smoke had not dissipated much. He would have to wash all his clothes and bedding, of course. The odor wasn't as offensive as most brands, but he hardly wanted to be smelling smoky peaches for the next month either. Shrugging, he rose and took one more look at his finished work. It was good. Really good, he thought. It had turned into far more than a light study. It was a complete and promising work in its own right, perhaps his best. He was grinning despite himself. A bit of second hand smoke exposure was a small price to pay for such inspiration. He went to the bathroom and brushed his teeth. He wasn't sure if it was the smoke or his now tired and bleary eyes, but everything seemed a bit hazy around the edges. His own reflection in the mirror seemed fuzzy and his features appeared to shift and blur even as he looked at them. He shook his head and rubbed his eyes before turning out the lights. He started for his bed, but changed his mind and slipped to the window. For the first time that night he wondered if there might have been more than Jamie knew in those strange cigarettes. Maybe more than tobacco, anyway. The view in the mirror, the change in Jamie's appearance, it all brought to mind stories of Mushrooms or Acid trips. He'd always steered clear of Drugs, in any form and was more than a little worried that he'd allowed himself to be unknowingly exposed to more than he'd bargained for. Still, his thinking seemed clear, and he hadn't smoked anything himself, just gotten the second hand exposure. Jamie had crashed pretty quickly at his computer. He must have been sleeping for two hours and had made very little progress on his Econ paper. Of course he'd been adding liberal amounts of bourbon to his coffee as well. As a precaution, he opened the window just a crack and turned up the heat on the wall before stripping to his shorts and crawling into bed. Despite his concern, Chris was asleep almost immediately, though he was soon troubled by persistent erotic dreams. In his dream, Chris found himself in an old 1930's nightclub. Judging by the clientele it was somewhere in Asia. He walked around taking in the atmosphere which all seemed very familiar somehow. Harrison Ford walked into the room and made his way, after a brief encounter with a waiter, to a table near the stage. It all snapped together and Chris couldn't help but grin as Indy passed not two feet away from him. He was still grinning when he noticed the woman in the corner. He felt his heart leap at the very sight of her. A rich cascade of black hair spilled over her tawny exotic features. She was dressed in keeping with western fashion of the period. A close fitting, low cut black dress with an almost impossibly long slit up the left leg, almost to her waist it seemed. Even sitting in the shadows, as she was, he could see that she had noticed him. Her eyes scarcely left him in fact. Glancing down he found himself decked out in a tailored tuxedo with platinum cufflinks and shoes polished to a high shine. Seeing where his dream was headed, his heart began to pound in earnest. Raised voices erupted at Indy's table a few paces behind him. He knew that in a few moments there would be shots fired and flaming skewers flying and ice everywhere. Indy would start a small riot in his attempt to retrieve the antidote to the poison the gangsters had slipped him. Once that happened, he'd miss his chance to meet the girl. In the disjointed fashion of dreams, he suddenly found himself sitting across from her at the little table in the shadows. She was laughing, a low and sultry sound with promising warmth behind it. It seemed he'd had just said something particularly witty. "My dear, how can even a decent woman resist such advances. You've quite swept me off my feet, Herr Christopher." Herr? How'd he end up as a German. Almost all the Germans were Nazi's in the Indy pictures. Maybe he was a double agent. Just then a shot rang out, followed quickly by a piercing scream. Bedlam erupted. Damn, he thought, just when it was getting good. "Quickly, follow me!" The woman rose and took his hand. He felt a palpable almost electric shock at her touch, more substantial perhaps than a dream should be. He had little choice but to follow her. They fled down a well-lit corridor, screams and crashes erupting behind them. He thought she might lead him out to the street, but just short of the lobby, she paused and pulling open a door ducked in. He stepped in behind her. The room was dark and close save for the light leaking in from the corridor. She stood mere inches away from him and he could feel the warmth of her body, her breath in the close quarters. "Pull the door shut, we can't be found!" She hissed. He turned awkwardly and pulled the door shut. The room was pitch black now. The sound of running feet grew louder as he slipped the latch and the lock home. He could sense her behind him now. He turned and said nothing, letting his eyes adjust to the dark. "We'll have to wait here for a time, until things calm down." Her voice was full of seduction and he felt her hands lightly caressing his chest, his arms. "Is there a light in here?" He could hear the waver in his voice. He knew it was a dream, wanted her and could feel the reaction of his body, but at the same time he felt that something was wrong. "We can't chance it," she whispered, her lips brushing his cheek, his neck, her breath moving down his body to where her hands worked unlacing his belt. "Besides, I don't think we really need it." His cock slipped free and his pants dropped down around his ankles. "Promise you'll respect me in the morning?" The clich? was delivered in such close proximity to the swollen crown of his shaft that the heat of her breath made it swell all the more and a low strangely feminine moan escape his lips. Her lips slipped over the fleshy knob. The intensity of the sensation was complete. It was like no dream he could remember. He could feel the wet heat of her mouth, the soft pressure of her lips around his shaft. Her hands moved all over his body, but each time they neared or brushed his nipples an overpowering electric surge of pleasure suffused him. She licked and lapped and sucked with complete abandon. Her lips were like velvet upon his shaft, her tongue all the while rolling over and lapping at his swollen member. I'm dreaming. He thought. This is a dream. Shit, I don't want to wake up! His eyes snapped open and the deep enveloping blackness of the dark was lessened, but all the sensations were the same. He was back in his room, lying on his bed, the covers thrown clear of the bed so that his nipples stood sharply up in the cool breeze from the window. His lower body and especially his groin was well warmed by the enticing feminine body of the woman. His cock was enshrouded by the softly moving halo of her hair as she moved her mouth and lips over his cock. Her hands roamed over the smooth, too hairless flesh of his abdomen, occasionally caressing the soft swell of his breasts or brushing a long fat nipple and sending a thrill down his spine directly to his swollen shaft. A low moan escaped his lips again, feminine in tone and aspect. What the hell kind of dream was this? Breasts? All was distraction, however, as the tension in his cock was building. He was achingly hard. His lover noted it and she released him, moving herself quickly up his body. She straddled him and ineptly shifted her hips over his straining cock. She fumbled for a moment in this way before reaching behind herself and gripping his cock in one hand guiding it to her well lubricated point of entry. She was so wet, in fact, that as her weight settled upon him, his member slipped up and into her in one long glissade, meeting almost no resistance until her well rounded hips were pressed firmly against his thighs. She gasped and began rocking her hips with quick sharp motions, hard and fast. Her breasts swayed in erratic elliptical orbits that matched the taut bounce of his own slightly smaller breasts. He was only half convinced that he was still dreaming. The sensations were too powerful, too overwhelming. Her body was smooth and soft and perfect and in the darkness she was wrapped around him like a glove. He could feel his orgasm building, wanting it and yet wanting to go on fucking her like this forever. Misgivings didn't really matter anymore in any event. The pleasure washing over him was unlike anything he'd felt before. The sense of panic, the wrongness of some many things was there in the back of his brain, but it was potently overwhelmed by the liquid sensation of her body moving against his, the heat of her contrasted by the chill in the air. Her lips descended upon his left breast and all thought fled as she took it into her mouth, flicking it with her tongue and sucking hard upon it. He groaned as the liquid rush of pleasure flowed down his spine and sent him over the edge so that he knew that in a moment he would erupt inside her. If she sensed it, all she did was increase the urgency of her motion. Her sex was like satin upon him and a final urgent groan passed his lips before his hands flew to her hips and he forced her down hard upon him, once, twice, three times before... "Oh Fuck!" She cried out as he pulled her down and held her there. "Fuck, Yes! Oh God! Yesss...." Her sex contracted convulsively around him as he groaned and spilled his seed deep within her, her limbs began to shudder and the pads of her fingers dug hard into his shoulders. She bucked and gasped and cried out for ten, twenty, thirty seconds after he felt the last burst of seed spill within her. She gave one last convulsive shudder and bearing down once more, lowered her head gently to his now substantial breast. "Oh yessss...." She sighed. "This is the best dream I've ever had." Chris knew now, of course. His trembling hands still lightly gripped the narrows of her waist. The waist he knew belonged to his friend and roommate, Jamie. Almost involuntarily, his hands moved back and over the full, utterly feminine swell of Jamie's hips. Back further still, his fingertips brushed the slightly furry warmth of the mound between those thighs. His cock, and with a flash of insight he realized then why he still had one, was even now softening inside her. Jamie shuddered as an aftershock washed over her. "Wow." It was a word more full of awe than he ever remembered it holding before. It was himself he had seen in the dream. The beautiful exotic woman had been he himself. His own ancestry was a muddle of Korean and the usual mix of English, Sotts-Irish. His features were a pleasant enough mix of the two. On her they had been beautiful and exotic. His hair was dark as jet, just as the woman's had been. He had the sudden certain knowledge that if he rose and went to the bathroom, it would be her face he saw in the mirror and not his own. "Jamie?" He ventured, his voice soft and sultry, identical to the woman's in his dream. "Yeah?" the note of utter satisfaction was evident in her voice. "You're not dreaming." "Of course I am." She murmured snuggling her head close against Chris' breasts. He pinched her ass. Hard. "Ouch!" Jamie's body slipped up and back off him. Chris' cock came free and was followed by a warm wash of fluid which flowed over his left thigh and down over his smooth and hairless ass to pool between his rounded feminine thighs. "What the hell!" Jamie rubbed her ass briskly. "That really hurt...oh." "Still think you're dreaming?" "Shit." Jamie reached down between her thighs and slipped a finger over her cum slicked sex. She trembled a bit drawing a finger lightly over her clit. "My god, Chris..." She parted her new folds and dipped a single finger tentatively inside herself. "I have a... I'm a... you just..." "Tell me one thing, Jamie." "Chris you look... but you have..." "Where did you get those damn cigarettes, Jamie."