So, here I am, stroking myself to a cute chick stroking herself for the first time, thinking I am invisible to anything and everything when she makes eye contact with me and lets out a blood-curdling scream!

OK. Wait. I got ahead of myself. Way ahead of myself.

I will start afresh here. I am Sandy. I am a lesbian. There’s nothing new there if you know me.

The problem is, I am not very good at it. I mean, I am really not good at it.

I have been a lesbian for as long as I can remember. Unfortunately, I have had sex with just about as many women as I have had sex with men. I have had sex with zero men.

In my 34 years on Earth, I have had sex with two women. Two.

One time probably could not be considered sex. It was some awkward make-out session with a girl from work when I was in my mid-20s where we both fingered each other while still fully dressed, then kind of just gave up after 30 minutes of tired fingers. Oh boy, that date sucked.

The other time happened a couple of years later, and it was sex with both of us, fingering each other, eating each other, having mad passionate sex for what seemed like glorious hours.

After we were done and as she was dressing, she said casually, “Hey, make sure my boyfriend doesn’t know about this, OK? I think he might propose this weekend!”

Yeah, fuck. That was a one-night stand.

I thought about hiring a prostitute, but I got so desperate.

A couple of times, I joined dating sites but usually ended up too scared to make any moves. I was a member of a sex dating site for years and finally got the courage to meet up with this gorgeous local woman ... only to find out it was a guy. Yeah, that figured, too.

So, I gave up.

Not on sex. Fuck no. It seemed like I was always horny.

At least four times a week, I played with myself. It became a ritual of sorts. Wake up, go to work, get home, run, stroke my pussy. Honestly, I didn’t feel that it was a bad life.

Of course, I had to experiment with different toys and different lubes.

That, my dear readers, is how the trouble started.

Ever heard of the Cum Hard And Be Prosperous dildo? No, not one of the best-known. I ran into it in an advertisement on some porn site, then ran into it again, then again. I checked out the revues and found ... nothing.

It was almost as if it didn’t exist.

But, if it did not exist, then how in the fuck was it possible I keep running into ads for it?

It looked like a good ride, if not a little big for me. Finally, I took a flier and sent away for it.

I am serious; I didn’t receive it for 16 months. I had forgotten about it when some mysterious brown package showed up at my doorstep and out popped this dildo.

It looked better in person than it did in the ad!

However, it also looked a bit large and perhaps a bit uncomfortable. I had recently run out of my favorite lubricant and decided to place an order for it.

That company had gone out of business.

However, I did not know this, having mistyped the company’s name, which led to another website that was a ghostly phantom of the original site but with some elements that resembled the ones I had always received.

So, I ordered what I always got (or so I thought) in Slippery When Wet, except this one was Slippery When Wet. Honestly, I did not notice the difference. My horniness must have made my brain go south or something.

The lube took 21 months to reach me. Again, I had forgotten about it. By that time, I had discovered that the original company was going under, found an alternative lubricant, and ordered it. Meanwhile, Cum Hard And Be Prosperous still sat in its original packaging under my bed, having been looked at once and never used.

When the lube finally arrived, a little light went off in my head, and I remembered the dildo.

Would you believe that it was a fucking plug-in?

A fucking plug-in dildo!!???!! Who the fuck makes fucking plug-in dildos in this day and age! The company that made Cum Hard And Be Prosperous makes a fucking plug-in dildo; THAT is who!

So, I lube it up, drop my panties, lay in bed, and rub the dildo on my pussy. It danced on me like Fred Astaire, leaping all around as if I thought it was physically impossible. I mean, it was like it was inside my pussy and on my clit at the same time.

The thing felt fucking good.

Meanwhile, the lube is reacting to the heat from my pussy, and it starts heating up a bit more in a fucking fantastic way.

So. Backtrack a little bit. It gets a little weird here.

I love candy. That is not the weird part.

One of my favorite candies is Pop Rocks—also not the weird part.

Earlier in the day, I ate four or five packets of Pop Rocks. What can I say? I have a sweet tooth.

Unknown to me, one of the packets had spilled all over the bed.

While I am fucking myself with Cum Hard and Be Prosperous while Slippery Wen Whett is heating me, I kinda rolled into the pile of spilled pop rocks.

Suddenly, the lube and the juices from my pussy react with the Pop Rocks, and they start snapping – on my pussy.

I’m pretty sure people on the other side of town heard my scream.

It was not just a scream of surprise but one of the biggest and weirdest orgasms I have ever had in my life.

The lady downstairs was so panicked that she rushed upstairs and pounded on my door so loudly and frantically that I didn’t bother getting dressed to answer it; instead, I opened it a crack and peeked my head out.

“Hello?” she said, confused, when I opened the door, looking around and straight at me.

“Yeah ... hello ... sorry ... I thought I saw a mouse, and...”

She nodded, still looking around in confusion, shaking her head in understanding. “Are you sure you’re OK?” she asked.

I nodded and smiled.

I could tell she was getting a little irate. I opened the door a little bit more, now my shoulder and head sticking out. “I said,’ Are you okay?”

I knitted my brow and nodded again, more slowly this time. I knew she wasn’t blind or anything, so this was ridiculous.

She put her hands on her hips. “Listen, if you don’t want to answer, that’s okay, but I was just a bit worried.”

“I ... I’m OK,” I choked out.

She jumped and looked around, then looked straight at me and looked around some more.

“Oh. OK,” she said and left.

I shut the door and shook my head in confusion.

But I felt damn good. That orgasm perfectly shook me.

It also shook up my bladder.

I relieved myself and washed my hands, looking at myself in the mirror.

At least, I tried to look at myself in the mirror.

I had no reflection.

I waved my hand at it as if that would make any difference. I touched the mirror. I blew my breath on it, which steamed the glass.

I went into my bedroom, put on a shirt, and then went back into the bathroom. I could see my shirt in the mirror, floating in mid-air, but not me.

OK. This was getting fucking weird.

Maybe it was the orgasm, maybe that lube stoned me, perhaps the Pop Rocks stoned me, but I decided to do something I would never usually do.

I dropped the shirt, exited my apartment, and went to the apartment next door, banging on her door and stepping back.

She opened the door, looked straight at me, knitted her brow, then started looking around.

“Hello?” she asked. “Is anybody there?”

Getting no answer, she shook her head and closed the door.

I went back into my apartment and looked in the mirror. Slowly, I was reappearing.

I thought about being invisible.

I disappeared again.

I thought about not being invisible.

I appeared again.

“This is fucking cool!” I said.

Suddenly, I had superpowers. I could use these to do anything I wanted!

But I am not that kind of person. Instead, I continued living my everyday, monotonous life. A couple of times when I wanted out of an awkward situation with another person, I thought about turning invisible but remembered they would still be able to see my clothes, and what fucking good would that do?

I thought about robbing a bank, but what if I got caught in there? I’m pretty sure getting caught robbing a bank while being naked would be a pretty bad situation to get into.

So I kept on living my boring old life.

A few days after I had discovered my newfound power, I went out for a run after work, as I was prone to doing.

There is a recreational path located about a quarter of a mile from my apartment, which was created about a dozen years ago. While running, I thought about what the area with the path might have looked like before it was developed, and then I imagined being back in that time.

Suddenly, the world kinda turned a translucent white, there was a slight popping sound, and I was in the grass with shitloads of trash all over the place.

I stopped.

I did not recognize this place.

Some trees were nearby, with some housing a little bit past them. A closer look revealed a familiar sight, but one that didn’t quite seem right. I knew I was looking at Riverside Drive, which ran parallel to the recreational path, but the houses didn’t look right. Some looked familiar; others did not seem to fit in at all.

Getting on the sidewalk, I walked a little further down the road until I came to a factory that took up an entire block of the town.

That factory had been demolished 10 years ago.

“Huh,” I said to myself.

I thought about what it would have been like when the factory was in use.

The world went white and translucent with a pop, and I stood before the factory, watching people walk in and out of the door of the very obviously active factory.

“Well, if this isn’t a fucking day in the park!” I said out loud to myself.

“Lady,” a random man near me said. “We ain’t near any park.” He looked me up and down. “What kind of clothes are you wearing?”

I thought about being back in my own time.

The world went white, and I was standing in front of the park that replaced the building a few years ago.

I went back to my apartment.

So. I could turn invisible and travel through time. Good to know!

Most people, when given this great power, would do something either very noble or very devious. They might go back and kill Hitler. Or they might go back and rob a bank. They might reconsider investing in Microsoft.

For several days, between working, running, and playing, I thought about what I could accomplish with this newfound great power.

So, I came up with the best answer I could think of: I would go back and watch myself play. Why not? I was a hottie when I was younger.

But wait, why just something like that?

Why not go back to my very first time?

Yeah! That sounded like a great idea!

There was no preparation. Well, there should have been, but I didn’t. I should have gone back in time with some extra clothes, just in case something happened. Yeah, THAT sure would have helped things a little bit!

But, nope.

Whiteout, pop, and I was in the woods in my parents’ old backyard.

I stripped, snuck inside the empty house, and snuck into my old bedroom. I have no idea, but I was able to recall many details from that particular night, even though it was 20 years ago.

I found a perfect hiding space in my room, with an ideal view of the bed. In the corner, I had a couple of bookcases, one against the corner and another against the wall. I leaned on the one against the corner and propped my foot on the one leaning against the wall.

Perfect.

An hour later, the younger me came bounding into the room.

She lay in bed, facing the ceiling, her eyes fixed on her cell phone in excitement.

A picture popped up of a beautiful young blonde girl in a selfie pose, completely naked, hand between her legs as her fingers touched her pussy.

She swiped to another picture, which showed a closer shot.

“Fuck,” she said, sliding her panties off and sliding her fingers between her legs. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck fuck,” she said with more profound breaths as she fingered herself.

I was able to watch her fingers quite clearly, shyly, and tepidly glide over herself, softly stroking herself until one of her fingers disappeared between her lips, a drip of moisture escaping as the finger entered.

She began fingering herself, groaning in ecstasy.

I, meanwhile, had silently begun playing with myself.

I mean, it was a bizarre scene to begin with. Here I was, 34, invisible, watching myself 20 years earlier, playing with myself for the first time when I, from 20 years ago, had no idea I was there.

Until I shifted my foot and knocked a book over.

She sat up in bed, bolt upright, looking around the room until she saw the book, raising her eyebrows.

I sure did not remember that part.

It was a good thing I was invisible; I thought to myself that it would be disastrous if the younger me saw the naked older me playing with myself in the younger me’s room.

That was the wrong thing to think.

I knew it immediately and groaned as I could see my tits appear in my peripheral.

She let out a scream that could have been heard on the other side of town, jumping behind her blankets and pillow.

“WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?” she screamed. I am so glad no one else was home.

I thought about making myself invisible again. But I also kept thinking about how she could see me, so I suppose I flickered on and off.

“What the fuck is going on here?” she asked, grabbing a teddy bear and arming it in a threatening manner. “I swear I will tear your head off!”

“With that?” I asked. I then realized my predicament and grabbed a nearby shirt, trying to use it to cover up my nakedness.

“Who the fuck are you?” She glared at me, then squinted at me. “You almost look like ... mom?”

Was I starting to look like my mom now?

“What do you mean?’ she asked as I realized I said that quiet part out loud. She squinted at me again. “I mean, you do look like your mom.” But not quite. Sort of like me, too...” Her face fell. “Are you me? From the future?”

Damn, I was a smart kid.

I gulped and nodded my head.

She was still wielding the teddy bear. “What the fuck is going on here? How is this even possible?”

I gulped and reached out to touch her shoulder in an attempt to comfort her. “I know this is strange, but there is a logical explanation.”

I had no idea what that explanation was.

I also wished I was back in my own time.

Wrong thing to wish.

The world went translucent white, and there was a pop. I was back in my own time, in my parents’ old, now abandoned house.

My hand was still on the younger me’s shoulder.

Oh, yeah. The bed she had sat in during her time had been gone for decades. She crashed to the floor, sprawling, naked.

“Fuck!” she exclaimed, looking around wildly. “Did ... did you just take us back through time?” a little bit more calmly.

Damn it, I was bright as a kid!

I nodded.

“Back to your time?”

I nodded again.

She looked around. “My dad’s old globe,” she said, pointing at an old globe of the Earth sitting on a desk strewn with papers. She grabbed one. “These letters are from 11 years from now.”

“Actually,” I said, clearing my throat. “They are from nine years in my past. About 20 years separate us.”

She looked me up and down. I realized I was still naked and made a flawed attempt at covering myself. “Wow,” she said. “I turned out pretty cute!”

I turned red.

She looked around some more. “My old room. It looks like no one has been here for a while. She cocked an eyebrow at me. “Are my parents ... dead?”

I shook my head. “No, they are very much alive.”

“But not living here.”

I gulped and shook my head.

“Divorced?”
I nodded.

“Who cheated on who?”
“Neither, really,” I said. Or both, I thought to myself.

“So, what happened?”

I sucked some air through my teeth and blew it back out in a long sigh. “Mom’s a lesbian, too.”

She let out a small huff and nodded. “Yeah. Makes sense. Did she take it all right when you told her about us? I mean me. I mean you. You know what I mean!”

I nodded. “She had not come out yet, but she was very supportive. I want to think that helped her in the end. You know, to find out about herself.”

She nodded. “Yeah,” she said with a big smile. “That is great. But how did Dad take it.”

I traced my finger in the dust. “Yeah. Heh. Funny thing about Dad. I mean, it’s not funny, but it is ... well, ironic? He’s also gay.”

Her eyebrows shot up, and she crossed her arms over her chest. “Really! I didn’t see that one coming!

I pursed my lips and shrugged. “Neither did anyone else. However, a little while after Mom came out, Dad came out. He is pleased to be living with his husband.

“Wait ... two men can get married to each other now?”

I nodded. “A lot has changed.”

She smiled. “Wow. That is great!” She looked me over. “Are you married? Gotta girlfriend?”

I sighed and shook my head. “Nope and nope. Not without trying, though.”

She nodded. “We are still shy as fuck.” Damn it, I was a smart kid!

“Yeah,” I said quietly.

“So...” She paused, looking around. “You don’t live here.”

“No. I live in an apartment in town.”

“Do we still run?”
I nodded. I forgot how much I had loved to run, even when I was a girl. My parents had begged me to join cross-country, but I loved running so much that I was afraid the competitiveness might ruin it for me. “We still love to run a lot,” I said with a smile.

Is your apartment within walking distance of here?

I nodded. “About four miles.” I looked her over. “But we are not running like this!”

“Can’t you ... I don’t know ... go back and get some stuff? Like, go back in time and leave us some stuff.”

Yeah. I was a pretty smart kid. Where the fuck did all of that go. I rubbed my chin thoughtfully.

“Yeah,” I said. “I think I can. I will leave it in the closet.”

I walked to the closet.

A pile of running clothes sat on the floor.

We dressed, laced up, and went for a run.

I could tell she was a little faster than I was. Oh, there were times when I felt like I could fly in my younger days! However, 20 years had added a little strain to my body. Don’t get me wrong, I can still sometimes maintain a pretty good pace, but not like I used to. Fortunately, young me was understanding enough to give me a little leeway.

She looked around as we ran. “I can tell this is the same neighborhood, but it has changed a lot.”

I nodded. “Twenty years can make a huge difference.”

She wove around in the road for a little bit. “The sneakers are a lot different than the stuff my parents got me! They got me some New Balance a couple of months ago – I love them. But these ... these are like my feet are in angel butts!”

I snickered. I had used the same term to describe comfortable running shoes for ages. I had not realized for how long.

As we ran down a country road nearing town, a pickup truck passed us. The guy driving stuck his head out of the window and yelled something at us, although understanding him was impossible thanks to the Doppler effect.

“Men are still assholes, I see,” she said.

I nodded. “Yeah. Did not make me regret being a lesbian one bit!” I said.

She giggled. “Yeah, the boys are always hitting on me.” Fucking pigs!”

“I know,” I said. “I remember. Tommy, something was the worst.”

“Tommy Henderson. The dude is a fucking cunt! Excuse my fucking French!”

It’s my French, too. And, yeah. He still is a fucking cunt.”