Episode Five: Kimmy the Surfer Babe
DISCLAIMER: The following story is a work of fiction. It features a public person as a character, but strictly in a fictional setting that in no way implies the private interests or personal behavior of the public person in fact parallels the scenes depicted below. This article has not been approved by or presented to the public person for endorsement or comment. Any similarity between the actual acquaintances and actions of the public person portrayed here, and the content of this story, is strictly coincidental.
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ABOUT KIMMY:
Kimmy doesn't remember her dreams. Sometimes she wakes up in the night, skin damp and clammy, her body flushed, and for a moment there's a ghost of recall but it doesn't last as long as it takes to press long slender fingers to her groin. The moist memory of something is still fresh, there, although the sleep images which made her so are gone.
Despite great beauty, Kimmy rarely sleeps with anyone. Her usual bedtime companion is a tattered, battered teddy bear who attended her every girlhood every tea party. So her night visitations can't be clutched at when she wakes from a tossing rest, told to another before the ghost in her brain vanishes. To know what dances among the neurons when Kimmy sleeps, we must steal into her ear, make our way finally along the nerves and set exploring to find that region where her mind lives as her conscious body rests.
And yes, there is a party tonight in Kimmy's brain.
Perhaps we should dress for the occasion first, with a little more knowledge of the woman whose very secret self we will invade. Kimmy is young, just a little older than the law requires to serve her a drink she would only sip from politeness. She was raised well, uses good table manners and doesn't care to see feelings hurt, is kind to animals, watches her small budget and yearns to do something important in her life. Most families would be very proud indeed to welcome as a son's bride this petite, slender blonde with the swan's neck, defined jaw line and straight nose.
Perhaps. There's another side to Kimmy that proves the old adage, "You gotta watch the quiet ones."
She is a bisexual woman with an unquenchable sex drive. Her closet is filled with slutty clothes and rows of very high-heeled shoes. At the private strip club where she is the only dancer, she sometimes fucks the customers ... on stage, on a table, or in the parking lot - and sometimes in groups of 20 to 40 at a time. Often she goes to work dripping cum, stoppered in her ass with a butt plug, gathered in a noonday cruise for cock among the businessmen's bars in town. And when she's not working, Kimmy's at home with a huge assortment of toys she uses while chatting about sex on the Internet - or for fucking with one of her several bisexual girlfriends. Sometimes she has them tie her up and dominate the tiny girl with the very full, silicon-enhanced bosom.
Kimmy's appetites are not the norm, perhaps, but she shares a habit with many people. She sees someone attractive, perhaps someone interesting in personal manners or even spiritual ways more than physically, and develops a crush on that stranger. And she's shy about it, even as many of us are. But where the average young woman with a harmless crush on a handsome stranger might contrive ways to peek from the sides of her eyes at her new attraction, Kimmy wonders how she could ask him to fuck her senseless. Or how to get that foxy woman, rather than a hot guy, in bed. Kimmy is an equal opportunity lay.
Also, like many others, Kimmy is a bit star-struck. She has an open heart as well as open legs, so for her a crush on a famous actor, beautiful model, or popular singer is a brief imaginary love affair of great intensity. In fact, her response is a flood of fluids down her thighs. She often daydreams about being a star-fucker. She doesn't remember them, but her night dreams are often filled with celebrity sex. And we, the dream invaders, are going to join her.
When we are wandering around Kimmy's dreams, it might be best if we wear stainproof raincoats with hoods.
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While her favorite color is pink, Kimmy also likes blue a great deal - her car is blue, her bedroom is decorated in blues, some of her sexiest outfits are blue, and the ocean where she loves to hang out is blue. So is the custom frame on her Internet browser screen display, which Kimmy saw most of the day while she was web surfing for good porno.
Part of this tiny pink lady's appeal is her combination of sweet, demure shyness and an outrageously nasty mind. Some conversations make her blush until she's nearly lavender, yet the stuff she looks up on the Internet would have had her hanged a hundred years ago. We Dream Invaders can testify that what people see influences their thoughts, because here we are in Kimmy's twisted brain again tonight, watching her relive her day's discoveries. Dream-Kimmy is at her battered old desk next to the bed, looking for porn.
Onscreen is an amazing photo of some other blonde woman with the biggest tits ever created by some sick puppy using a morphing program. Kimmy's online boyfriend calls overinflated breasts "blimps" - he would probably name these dugs "zeppelins," since they pour from the petite creature's chests to spread massively across her thighs in glistening mounds the size of footstools. Despite the silence of this dream world, we know Kimmy is laughing at the sight, since her shoulders shake and those grand round breasts of hers bob and the tiny pink nipples trace a crazy path.
What speed Kimmy's dream computer has! Now she's looking at some women's wrestler website, probably a favorite of hers since Kimmy had that crush on Trish Stratus (EPISODE 1: TRISH DOMINATES KIMMY). She seems to have navigated backwards on the site to its index - curious, we sneak a bit closer to peek over her slender shoulders. Yes, she's called up a directory of photos for someone named "Sable." Oh, these are excellent photos, if they are real - this "Sable" looks something like Kimmy, and the wrestler loves to fuck - anal, in these shots, is a strong theme.
Kimmy finds the photos hot, too - she has a few arranged on her screen so she can see the best parts, and now she's supplied with a collection of her favorite toys on the end of her bed. More dream magic - just wish for something and there it is. Maybe tonight we are going to see Kimmy the star-fucker fuck herself.
She starts with a powder puff - makes herself all full of goosebumps and nice smells, teases her body from the tops of her feet to the backs of her legs, the inner lines of her thighs, the rim of her asshole, the sides of her mound, her belly, breasts, nipples and neck. We can see Kimmy shaking all over, her hands straying to her crotch, but for some reason she never quite does anything.
That errant hand now reaches to a bowl, pulls out an ice cube, and begins caressing her torso. Brrr, that must be cold! She's made her nipples poke far out by running the cube in decreasing circles from the sides of hr breasts to the points in their centers. Now she's stroking her abdomen, vertically, sliding the melting cube over a shining trail from her breastbone down to her groin, running the cube along the sides of her mound, down around her pink-brown pucker, back up the other side between thigh and slope of her Venus mount, and then to her chest again.