Family Spirit

She added, grinning, "Looks like I'm your little un-dead, dream-time, hippie slut, yours alone. You like?"

Dumb question.

We sexed again, and then I told her about Benny the Desert Nomad.

"In the great desert lived a band of nomads. Their leader, Benny, had risen to his rank due to his magnificent beard. His people believed a man's strength and courage came from his beard, and thus the man with the biggest beard was their chief.

After leading the band for many years, Benny began to fell uncomfortable wearing the beard, in this hot and dusty land. He wanted to shave it off, so he called his council together to get their advice.

When he said he wanted to shave, the councilmen were shocked. One said, "Do you not remember the ancient legend, Sire. The leader who removes his beard is cursed and made into a piece of earthenware."

Benny had heard this legend, but being a modern man, he scoffed at the tale.

Being headstrong, he went ahead and cut and scraped away his once magnificent beard. As the final whisker was cut off, a huge dust storm came up. It lasted only a few seconds, and when it cleared, there was a man-sized clay vessel where only moments before had stood their leader.

The council then knew the legend must be true. Their conclusion? "A Benny shaved is a Benny urned."

Jenny shrieked, giggled and asked, "How many of those do you have?"

"Enough to keep you giggling for years, little wanton not-really-dead, dream-time, slutty girlfriend."

"That's right," Jenny answered, "your own personal wanton, sex-loving, hippie slut. Let's nap and then," rolling her hips and flipping her still-distended nipples, "you can show me—again—how much you like having your own personal slut, every time you fall asleep."

—————.

It was about six months later, while Jenni and I were traveling in Northern California, that I was able to piece together her history and how she got to the only-sorta-dead state she was permanently in.

Where I was born in 1962 and was, in 1992, about 30, my Jenny had been born sometime in the early 1950's. A runaway from her overly-strict parents, she wound up in San Francisco during the Summer of Love and had become that rarest of creatures, a truly free-love advocate and hippy.

Somehow, at about age 18, she'd migrated out to Colorado, where she met Dennis Helbore, just out of high school and waiting to be drafted for Vietnam. They met, while she was sitting in the bus station, waiting for a ride to somewhere else. For the next 9 months, there were inseparable, as a couple. Dennis was an orphan, raised by his aunt and allowed to mostly run at large.

The tragedy happened, just as Dennis was going to propose marriage to the girl. They were having wild, thrashing, screaming sex. Dennis was in the process of ejaculating, while Jenny was having her umpteenth screaming orgasm, when a single shot rang out and the single bullet passed through her brainstem. She died in the middle of her orgasm.

As the Pitkin County Sherif's office report described it, Dennis saw a flash of light from what might have been a scoped rifle, out in the brush, a couple hundred yards away. He heard a male voice, loudly screaming in a falsetto, "Oh, Gawd. Oh, shit. Oh, fuck." Then he heard a thrashing of brush, decreasing in loudness. Finally, he heard what he thought was a car-door slamming and a vehicle peeling out on the nearest county road.

The police dug a .30-06 caliber slug from one of the trees in the grove where they'd been making love. By the time Dennis could reach his own car and the authorities had arrived, other vehicles had passed and there weren't even any tire tracks. Apparently the hunter had enough sense to pick up his own spent shell casing, so there were no clues to go on to identify the killer.

The law-enforcement conclusion had to be that her death was an accident, probably from a un-licensed hunter, who shot at what he thought was a deer.

It was like the old satirical song said: 'They ask me how I do it, and I say, "There's nothin' to it. I just stand there, lookin' cute, and, if it moves, I shoot".'

Dennis, through his aunt, paid for Jenny's cremation in her favorite hippie-sexing outfit and having the little mausoleum made for her. But then, Dennis was drafted, sent to Vietnam, where he was killed and his body not recovered. His aunt died a year later, as the last of the Colorado Helbore clan. The small graveyard fell into disuse and neglect and that was the way I found it.

Jenny, of course, didn't—couldn't—remember anything about her death or about Dennis, when I 'met' her, because I knew nothing about him, until today, and she couldn't remember anything that I didn't know. I think that state of affairs is actually good for her, as she never has to go through the grieving process over loosing a lover to death. In dream-time, we all are young, strong, lusty, hard (if male) or slippery-wet (if female) and endlessly potent.

So who do we have left but one dead but also quite-alive-in-dream-time, wanton little spirit. Sort of like the three legged dog who wandered into the saloon and clearly said, "I'm looking for the man who shot my paw." Sorry about that.

Finally settling down in a house, outside of San Diego (in the county), Jenny and I worked on extending her 'range' away from her bronze urn. This 'work' went on intermittently, in fits and spurts, as we sexed all over the new dwelling. Her range increased to about 52' radius from her bronze urn, placed next to our bed in the master bedroom.

Past that point, she started to get transparent but didn't thin out entirely until well into the back yard. At about a 75% solidness was where I started to feel grass on my cock, while laying her outside, so we had the pool and hot-tub excavated close to the house.

The hot tube was the best. My Jenny knew of these, having been in one of the first ones, back in her early, in-life memory. But now, in her sorta-kinda-dead state, she had some unusual skills.

In the evening, tired from my mental exercise and refining an invented design involving the Einstein equations, I placed an alarm clock near my head (so that I wouldn't drown or turn into a prune from being in the water too long) and drifted off into sleep.

In dream-time, Jenny took my totally potent, iron-hard cock into her lovely small mouth, but then submerged herself in the hot tub, while she addressed my oral-sex needs and with-certainty-coming-orgasm. As it became quickly apparent, I got a first-class oral-with-tongue work-out, while my ghostly lover was underwater for upwards of half an hour. Jenny, of course, didn't need to breathe. I came into her mouth, spurting my cum deeply into her, knowing that my family spirit would absorb all my dreaming semen.

A dreaming time to rest then came and went, and I plunged my re-hardened cock deeply into my slutty lover, again while she was totally submerged in the hot tub. I must have splashed out half the contents before I finished having my delightfully slutty, un-dead woman in the bottom of the tub, with just my head out of the water.

Before she had to shrink and return to her urn, I told her of the AWOL Off-The-Chain Sailor:

"A sailor was caught AWOL as he tried to sneak on board his ship at about 3 am. The chief petty officer spied him and ordered the sailor to stop. The officer ordered the sailor, "Take this broom and sweep every link on this anchor chain by morning or it's the brig for you!"

The sailor picked up the broom and started to sweep the chain.

Just then, a tern landed on the broom handle. The sailor yelled at the bird to leave, but it didn't. The lad picked the tern off the broom handle, giving the bird a toss.

The bird left, only to return and light once again on the broom handle. The sailor went through the same routine all over again, with the same result.

He couldn't get any cleaning done because he could only sweep at the chain once or twice before the silly bird came back.

When morning came, so did the chief petty officer, to check up on his wayward sailor.

"What on earth have you been doing all night? This chain is no cleaner than when you started! What have you to say for yourself, sailor?" barked the chief.

"Honest, chief," came the reply, "I tossed a tern all night and couldn't sweep a link!"

"A likely story," scoffed the chief, as he chucked another rock at the seagull, thus insuring that no tern was left un-stoned.

When the alarm went off, and I was awakened (looking like a wrinkled prune), I had to turn input valves to re-fill the hot-tub again.

—————.

Years later (in 2017), while in dream-time, I told both Jenny and Olivia about Michael and his harp:

"Michael Cechnik was an acknowledged master playing the harmonica, called by all that were in-the-know as his 'harp'. From classical thru jazz to rock and folk, he could belt out tunes to wow audiences across the world.

Playing his most recent performance in San Francisco, he and his friends went out to celebrate at Samatha's Clam Joint and Disco Dance Floor. It was a rocking night, and the alcoholic fog quickly rolled in.

Michael didn't remember much of the evening, except that at one point, he was hanging upside down over the stage, naked except for a white diaper. Later, he came to, eating a plate of steamed clams. Much later, he vaguely remembered trying to play his harp and make time with Sam, who, as a confirmed lesbian, just laughed at him.

His more sober friends insured that Mike made his flight out of town OK, but as the aircraft began it's take-off roll, Mike suddenly started searching his pockets frantically. Then, just as the aircraft lifted off into the sky, he was heard to wail, "I left my harp in Sam's Clam Disco."

As usual, Jenny near fell out of bed laughing hard, while Olivia made her usual groan-moan and made retching motions with her coal-black finger down her throat, while at the same time, giggling as she caressed Jenny tits while I ate my little un-dead slutty lover out.

Wait a minute. Olivia?

Oh, yeah. I met Olivia back in 2002, while doing some research at the University of California San Diego. I desperately needed an advanced mathematician who could unravel the Einstein-Fitzgerald equations involving the approximations and paradoxes to near light-speed velocity, as well as the power relationships of gravity from massive black holes to golf-ball sized meteoroids. Olivia had the knack of being able to explain these concepts to me in lay terms that even I could understand.

In addition, Olivia was about 6' tall, slender, high-breasted, long-legged and enjoyed teasing the Hell outta me while dressed in one of her sheer sun-dresses. During the day, she worked with me on my various projects and inventions, while at night, right after our 3rd date, she took me to her bed and damn-near raped me, repeatedly.

Just by chance, one exhausting night, Olivia and I fell asleep at our place, both our heads near to her bronze urn and we both woke in dream-time with Jenny comfortably sandwiched between the two of us. Introductions took about a minute, and those were followed a tri-sexual evening dream-time orgy, wherein I discovered that my mortal ebony-black girlfriend was bi-sexual with my deceased hippie slut.

It was fascinating to watch my coal-black woman having lesbian sex with apparently no one at all, while I was awake but with Olivia asleep and sexing with my slutty family spirit. I got to watch the various kissings and tongue-laps that were normally hidden from the view of an outside male. I watched my Olivia hump her hidden lover from below and above.

Equally, Olivia said, she got to watch how a man pleased a woman from the outside, as I pounded, manipulated, penetrated and pleasured my Jenny with my ultra-hard cock, ultimately ejaculating inside my deceased lover and coating her transparent insides wth my spurting cum. Olivia said she was always fascinated how half of my spunk could ooze out of Jenny's un-dead cunt lips, while the other half was slowly absorbed by her ghostly body, never to reappear.

Shortly after meeting Jenny, Olivia and I signed a wed-lease agreement, and continued bi-yearly renewal for the next 37 years. Jenny couldn't sign the agreement as she could only be seen or felt in dream-time, but we read all the terms to her and she verbally agreed, especially as most of them were either obscene, graphic or both, particularly as to do with an un-dead, slutty, bi-sexual, un-inhibited family spirit.

While acting as my secretary, mathematician, computer programmer and hot-shit lover (in congress with my personal, private deceased hippie slut), we ran the Einstein equations in detail, only to discover that, at a few points before the time-paradoxes and mass-increase became intolerable, there were a few 'glitches' in the smooth progression of equation results.

These led to my discovery of the 'plus- and minus-universes', as I named them: the lifeless 'plus' universe, full of energy and some hydrogen, helium and a relatively little lithium, while the equally-lifeless 'minus' universe consisted of mostly dark matter and little energy. My contra-gravity lifter tapped the plus universe, to deliver thrust in our universe (42 grams, for a single micro junction), while the equal-but-opposite reaction was shunted to the minus universe, there to dissipate, leaving what appeared to be a reaction-less drive, utilizing a minimal electrical-controlling energy.

Not willing to spend the rest of my days tied up in the various court systems (ultimately loosing), trying to defend my 'invention' of a physical principal, I simply made a succinct copy of all the relevant mathematics, provided a few examples, plans for a working module and e-mailed 100,000 copies to many individuals and companies around the world.

Then Olivia and I spent a lot of money devising way to use, control and protect against this technology, which we did patent and obtained royalties from use: the basic lifter module ... protection from 3-dimensional home invasions ... personal fliers ... drone delivery of essential and luxury goods ... water purifiers ... pollution-free transport ... cheap, easy low-earth orbit access ... and the like.

Olivia and I became one of the world's wealthiest couples. We were, of course, some of the most hated persons on the planet, as well (i.e., from the petroleum, aircraft and war industries plus militant religious bigots, when fliers, lifting cargo ships and lifting trucks became abruptly practical and cheap).

Jenny, protected by the two of us, remained a free-love spirit, unaffected by any of this.

—————.

It is 2074. I am 112 years old and ready to end things. Jenny, my spirit hippie-slut, is 122, but is still expressing her loving, sexing skills as a 19-year old.

Olivia died 53 years ago, but her genes compose a good half of our clones. Our work changed the world.

My 3 clone-sons and 3 clone-daughters, decanted last year, have lifted to orbit to join the star-cruiser, the eldest girl-woman (by a whole 4 minutes) holding a small bronze container of human cremains.

Within a few moments, the hollowed-out astroid will depart for the Tau Ceti star system, using our uni-directional thrust device and theory. My clones will be taking our family spirit, who will continue to pleasure untold generations of lovers, under multiple suns, until humans—no longer just male and female—can not perform the physical act of sex and love.

Her 'range' now encompasses the entire inner volume of the star-ship rock, ensuring that all within are subjected to free-love and sexing while in dream-time.

For myself, hanging there just below the mass of rock that will carry my clones on their one-way trip, I am still about 63% of human flesh—the rest body-support devices and supplies—but all rapidly failing now. With one motion of the remaining muscle in my left hand, I will physically flip the switch that turns off all of my remaining life and airless-space protection, as what is left of me descends toward earth and burns up in the atmosphere.

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust: poor old Casimir, all fanny, no bust.

Hail and farewell, my un-dead lover and personal, private hippie-slut. I bid you all the best. My cremains will join the earth and sea.

After which, my puns and I are [flip] dea ....