Sharla Winslowe

by Christy Lake and Misty Dawn

 

Sharla Anne Winslowe, a beginning college student develops a talent for psionic manipulation and has an unknown affinity for making this energy perform "Magic." This is the start of her exploration and experiences.

 

*Chapter 1. A Start*

Part 1. Meet Sharla and wonder as she does something impossible

Part 2. Sharla does the impossible again

Part 3. Sharla makes some fabric

Part 4. Sharla makes and uses the Litter Getters

 

Chapter 2 New Friends

Part 5 Meet Naomi and the Water Swatters

Part 6 The July 4 picnic and more Naomi

Part 7 Meet Jenny

Part 8 A different type of Carpet Cleaner – Mikey

Part 9 Some Hair Zappers

Part 10 Hazy Missy Piggy and Scruffy Scrubber

 

Chapter 3 Strange Events

Part 11 The Halloween Fiasco

part 12 Christmas Nursing

part 13 Sweetheart Ball

Part 14 Spring Break

Part 15 Magic Books

 

*Part 1 Meet Sharla and wonder as she does something impossible*

It was a dark and windy night, fraught with lightening and crashing thunder. About the only decent thing about living in the Dormitory during the summer was that she had a room to herself. Nobody would razz her about being dateless on a Friday night. Sharla stared at the tickets in her slender hand. Room light reflected tenfold from long, plum-painted nails. They had cost an hour and a small fortune at Gail's Nails. A rueful sigh escaped her.

Kevin had called an hour and a half ago. He had been at the construction site. They had just finished and the rest of the crew was leaving. He was going to get cleaned up and dressed in his Tux in his dad's construction trailer. He had told her that he had a white wrist corsage in the cooler in his SUV.

Their formal dinner date had washed out, literally. Kevin had just called again, a half hour after he was supposed to pick her up; he had been trapped by flash flood washouts on the South Trout Canyon Road. He had changed and hiked back to the construction site and called his dad for some transportation. His dad had said that they would not be able to get to him until tomorrow because there were bad washouts on the main road and on the South Road. Crews were working but it would be about a ten-mile hike to the nearest crew from where his Explorer was stranded. His Dad had recommended sleeping at the construction site.

She held the tickets, contemplatively. She could call a taxi and go by herself. Instead she called the dinner theater with their cancellation. While she was on the phone, the two seats were sold. "At least Kevin will get a complete refund," she thought as she dropped the receiver into its cradle.

With a soft sigh, she carefully anchored the two tickets under the paper clip dispenser on the desk. The program of the Brompton Players Last Dinner Theater show was crumpled into a ball and dropped in the big ashtray on the coffee table. Slipping off sling back three-inch high heels, the disgruntled coed began shedding her clothes.

A tug at the knot at her right shoulder, and the elegant gown crumpled, became a shimmering pool of silk surrounding trim ankles and small, straight-toed, dainty feet. They seemed almost too small to support her five feet, ten-inch frame. Stepping lightly from the puddle, hooking the discarded gown on a big toe, she kicked it viciously toward the closet.

The dress filled with air and its skirt ballooned, drifted a little, and then settled over the corner of the open door in a thoroughly dispirited manner. The girl shrugged, and the movement, reflected by the mirror on the back of the door intrigued her. Though not fully a mature woman's body, the reflection proved this was by no means the body of a girl any longer. The hint of full, ripe curves was clearly evidenced by a crisp "coke bottle" figure, proud jutting conical "A" breasts, and narrow waist with its deeply indented bellybutton. If anything was "wrong" it was that her torso was disproportionate to her long elegant legs.

It was a torso so short, and a waist so slender she had been given the nickname "Barbie" by classmates in her high school class. She thought the nick could have to do with the wide gap visible between the tops of her thighs at the base of her gently rounded, but firm abdominal V. The thong matching the discarded gown clung to and defined a narrow cleft dividing the swell of her pronounced mons.

Finished with her business in the bathroom, Sharla curled up on the end of the couch, tucking long legs under her, dainty plum colored toes peeking from under firm, shapely buns.

Hardly realizing what she was doing, Sharla stared intently at the program, visualizing flames devouring it the way events had devoured her plans. Something, maybe it was the tension, suddenly left and she felt, just as suddenly, utterly exhausted. A moment later she was jerked out of her reverie by the raucous peals of the ancient fire alarm claxon. A stream of smoke was rising from a small pile of ashes in the ashtray. Flushing the hot ashes down the toilet; she donned a short, dark green satin dressing robe and matching mules, then quickly joined the building evacuation.

*********

In the spacious country kitchen of a modern farmhouse near Burlington, Vermont, a woman of incomparable, motherly beauty froze. After concentrating for just a moment, she strode to the wall phone and punched a speed dial number.

"Janet, this is Sheila. We've got a problem. Someone has brought in a powerful trainee."

"I know, Sheila, I felt it, too. What did you notice?"

"I just caught a flash of very tightly controlled, clean pyrotechnic action. That is the reason I believe it was a trainee."

"Me to. By the Goddess' skirts, this newcomer is powerful," Janet spat epithetically. "Did you read the location, Sheila?"

"All I can tell you is that the person is someplace in North America, and I too, have never felt the Goddess' power manipulated by someone with this signature."

*********

 

*Part 2 Sharla does the impossible again*

Sharla had been extremely glad that the firemen last night had assumed that the fire alarm had been caused by a faulty sensor, and had not asked anyone too many questions. She had been so exhausted she had barely made it out of her green satin robe, mules and scanty panty, sprawling naked across her bed atop the soft satin spread. It was the first time in her life she had slept naked.

Heading for class the next morning, Sharla, somehow feeling amazingly refreshed, enjoyed the fresh washed smell of the lawns. Silently condemning litterbugs to the lowest regions of a trashy hell when she spotted some papers caught in a bush next to the sidewalk. Snatching the fluttering pages up, she noticed it was about twenty or thirty pages stapled together. It was also dry, so someone had to have just tossed it. Some force within her compelled her to study the brief, rather than place it in the receptacle standing not a dozen steps from where she had retrieved it

The stapled together pages were a story someone had printed off the Internet. The story was titled "Enough is Enough" by Misty Dawn. "The trials and tribulations of Christine, a young magic user, while learning to focus and limit the application of her powers."

Shrugging, unable to understand these uncommon urges suddenly compelling her to do strange things; Sharla tucked the journal into her backpack to be studied fully later, and then headed for class, a three-period chemistry lab. Her experiment went well. By the end of the first period, she had completed her workbook and was ready to review the experiment. After the Break, she cleaned up her lab bench and set her workbook, opened to today's experiment, on the bench before her. Then, suddenly, once more compelled by forces unknown, she pulled out the journal she had found and started reading it, rather than working on her review.

Fascinated, wondering who had left the tome for her to find, this was simply too, too coincidental, because in one example Misty, the trainer-writer, has the trainee visualize fire and then proceeds to describe how to apply "The Power" as pyrotechnic energy to burn a crumpled paper on the hearth. Naturally it is successful but the trainee is left utterly exhausted, just like Sharla had been just the night before. Then Misty, the trainer-writer, explains in depth how to accomplish the same thing with out visualizing the visible Dancing Flames, using "Mind Magic," causing the paper on the hearth to collapse into itself without any magic residue, or excessive drain of the user's strength. Misty's trainee then goes on to learn all sorts of neat tricks, using magic spells to move things around, spells to help other folk, and conjuring to teach windows, walls, floor and ceiling to become self cleaning. The trainee also learned how to do a lot of everyday things using spells including cleaning and ironing clothes, applying and removing makeup, and even cleaning and styling her own hair. In several instances Christine uses normal magic to do the job with hilarious results related by Misty in humorous anecdotes. Misty, in the story, kept stressing that the same results were possible using mind magic, but a lot more effective and less fatiguing than doing it by regular magic.

Sharla, deeply engrossed, was surprised when the second period bell came. She hurried to the girl's room at the far end of the second floor hallway. She had been laughing inside and holding it in so hard that she'd almost peed her panties by the time she entered. Her eyes flicked over the image reflected by the mirror over the basin; high cheek bones, a pert nose over a full-lipped, sensuous mouth, wide green eyes, large and open sparkled at the world under trim, perfectly arched brows, rich, lustrous auburn hair, sometimes seemingly streaked with Autumn colors, streamed behind tiny twice-pierced ears to brush soft, round shoulders in an tidy well-kept spill. A pretty, attractive, fresh-faced coed any "frat bro" would thrill to claim as his.

Greatly relieved, she headed back to her lab stool, and stooped to pick up a crumpled paper off the floor along the way. Someone was blocking the trashcan so she tossed it on the fireproof surface of the workbench. Just moments later, the lab monitor stopped and checked her workbook. Sharla was genuinely shocked when she was awarded a score of 98%. The only two points subtracted were because a line in a formula did not completely underline all the characters. She had written, "Sharla, attention to detail, precision, and control are the secrets of productive experiments. Good work. Please read quietly until the end of the period." Sharla could not remember writing up the review of her earlier experiment, yet there it was completed and graded!

Sharla pulled out her sociology book but could not get into it. Her eyes kept straying to the crumpled paper. She could not get her mind off the Dancing Flames over the ashtray last night. She had been very upset last night, returning from the Fire Drill to find three firemen, and the Dean of Students in her room. It had been the sensor in her room that had triggered the alarm.

One of the firemen was saying, ". . . it probably was just a defective sensor. As I understand it, these are the original sensors installed when the building was constructed," effectively letting her off the hook, whether he knew it or not.

Suddenly Sharla was staring at the crumpled paper she had just tossed atop the desk. Her senses focused and suddenly she could feel every wrinkle and line. Just for fun she visualized every bit of the surface dancing with microscopic, white-hot flames. Something twitched. She focused her eyes on the paper. It simply wasn't there. Looking closely, she saw something, maybe a few very fine ashes, where the paper had been. Quickly Sharla looked around. Thankfully nobody seemed to have noticed anything-special happening. With her pert butt half on, half off the lab stool, she sat there in silent contemplation of that ash residue until the bell rang and it was time to go to lunch.

A used Kleenex fluttered past Sharla's face as she was checking the outdoor bulletin board to see if any more extra curricular activities had been posted. Staring intently at the soiled tissue, now lying quietly on the sidewalk, she wondered again what possessed people to be such litterbugs? "Do they not care at all for the Earth Mother?" The filthy tissue became her focus and she felt every wrinkle, including the slimy mess folded into one corner. Twitch and it was gone.

********************

 

*Part 3. Sharla makes some fabric*

"Icky." She brushed the slimy sensation of whatever had been in the corner of the Kleenex off her slender thrice being ringed fingers. She spotted what probably was a paper towel under a bush. Maybe she could form a bag and pick up the paper, like the dog walkers picked up poop in a baggie? She wondered, moving slowly, deep in thought, to rest her pert buttocks atop a low retaining wall next to the bulletin board.

Visualizing it as a Zip Lock sandwich bag, she had her "little Litter Getter" scoop up the paper and seal itself. Chuckling at her own inflation of ego, imagining herself a scantily-clad Amazon valiantly battling a war against an overwhelming evil, she again pictured the Dancing Flames, but this time on the inside of the baggie and fueled by the paper. Once more there was a twitch, and the plastic bag was empty. Still chuckling, she relaxed and the bag under the bush faded.

Still deep in thought, she made her way to the cafeteria and picked up her meal. A small Chef's salad, as she wanted to be certain she could get into the new dress she intended wearing when Kevin picked her up this weekend.

Settled into a chair at a small table on a raised dais, overlooking the other tables. The cafeteria was sometimes conscripted as a meeting room. ,;She realized that she was tired. It was a feeling like after a heavy work our at the gym, muscles tired, not quite like the complete loss of energy tired she had experienced the first time she had used the "Dancing Flame" in the dormitory last night, but close.

Setting her backpack on the floor next to the right rear leg of her chair, Sharla's eye fell on the stapled sheaf of papers she had discovered fluttering in the bush earlier, and found herself reaching for it even before taking a first dainty, ladylike bite of the concoction on the table before her the cafeteria proclaimed a Chef's Salad. At least the single piece of meat she discovered under a wilted leaf of yesterday's lettuce TASTED like turkey, for once.

Thoroughly absorbed by Misty's indirect humor and amusing anecdotes, she felt compelled to read, "Enough is Enough" cover-to-cover even before finishing her meal. Going back to it, she found herself perusing a section where Christine is being taught to make an invisible bag. This second time she read it much more closely. Since she had only just worked out the creation of her own bad bag, this struck her as being just a bit too, too coincidental.

The lesson, as taught by Misty to Christine, went through spinning the carded wool, with a careful explanation that other materiel, suitable to a particular need, could, should, and would always, emphasizing always, be treated exactly the same way. As the fiber one needed for this was spun into thread, the thread was coaxed to become invisible and wind itself on broom straws.

Once a sufficient number of spools of the invisible thread had been spun, Christine was then required to visualize a loom and mount the thread wound straws on the loom. In each step, Misty explained in great detail how to use her gift to draw natural substances from the earth to create her tools and materials, and to furnish power to do the work, and then taught Christine to teach her creations to repeat the actions.

Sharla was nearly late to her next class; Sociology 121

The Professor decided to discuss communism and in just a couple of minutes was miles away from the course syllabus. "He must be trying to pad out his lectures," Sharla thought as she tuned him out, wriggling her saucy butt a bit to get comfortable on the hard desk seat. She flashed a demure smile at the guy in the desk beside her, who had seemed to take undue interest in the action of her long legs below the hem of her skirt. Deliberately ignoring the boy's openly lusty leer, she soon became lost in her own mental game.

"My little Litter Getter has to be fireproof. Asbestos is fire proof. The ground has a lot of natural asbestos, so I need to invent a caller to get the stuff to me. Let's see, this needs to be in close contact to the ground, so no flying strings hurt anyone, but it needs to be out of the weather. I know," she mentally snapped her slim self-manicured fingers at a sudden recollection and inspiration, "I'll set it up in the window of that closed grocery store down the street from the dorm!" She visualized the caller as a squat wicker basket setting on the concrete slab, sending out its commands and collecting the fibers one at a time as they came through the concrete.

"Some of them are a little bit kinky and short. Everybody knows it is the short asbestos that is dangerous. I'll put in a cleaner to fix each crystalline strand and break them off at an even four inches and then push them up so they can go to the spinner." Her "Cleaner" became another wicker basket, exactly fitting on top of the "Caller."

Next she visualized a spinning wheel; the details were a bland silvery gray. She sized it up so it was the right height for the top of the Cleaner. The frame was coated with photoelectric cells feeding a small-regulated motor, powering the wheel. She went looking for straws to serve as bobbins. Just out of sight, near her visualized window, she found a push brush with stiff plastic bristles. "You," she told the bristles "are going to be my bobbins." One immediately detached itself and moved to the take-up shaft. It was but a matter of moments to arrange feed fingers from the top of the cleaner to the business area of the spinning wheel. She told the caller, cleaner, and spinner to get busy while she constructed a twelve inch wide continuous loom.

Outside the dusty front window of the defunct grocery store, a slim nine-year-old girl watched with pleasure as the first bobbin got its fifteen feet of thread and jumped off the take-up shaft. A second plastic straw immediately jumped onto the shaft and took up the slack thread. Quickly the spinner was working at full speed again. She clapped joyously as invisible hands guided the full bobbin to its proper place and directed the thread to route itself correctly. Little Trish knew that loom was smart. It would thread itself and then start weaving. The second bobbin filled itself and drifted to the correct place for the other side of the cloth.

Sharla concentrated on the spinner and "taught it" how to create invisible thread. She told her imaginary "tools" to make a couple of rolls of cloth. "Gosh! I gotta tell mommy about this," Trish laughed gaily as she skipped away down the block toward her house.

The end of class buzzer broke Sharla out of her reverie. A cuddly kitten sitting on the porch of her home distracted Trish and she forgot to tell Mommy about the strange display in the front window of the building once housing Eaker's Grocery.

Saturday, actually early Sunday morning at Turnbulls, Sharla paused to listen to three very intoxicated ladies. The first was telling the other two something about while waiting for Tommy in front of the Old Eaker's Grocery Store, inside the front window two baskets had appeared one on top of the other. Then a metallic spinning wheel appeared and then a small loom. The spinning wheel was spinning.

After Turnbulls closed, Sharla walked past the old Eaker's Grocery window. There, just as she had imagined it, was a loom, a spinning wheel and two baskets. For years, Sharla had talked to inanimate objects like they were alive, so it was not unusual for her to speak to the creations of her dream. "Did you finish my material?" She asked, looking through the window.

She picked up a sense of satisfaction and saw something shift in the shadow next to the loom. "OK, bring it to me and then you can hide and relax," she thought. She felt two round rolls, maybe four inches thick, being tucked under her arm. She looked down and could see nothing but two small thin gray/white coasters suspended in front of her. She glanced back and the window was empty.

"I did real magic! I used the Power!" Was the thought running through her head all the way back to the dorm. It was still with her as she drifted onto slumber.

********************

 

*Part 4. Sharla makes and uses the Litter Getters*

Sharla was on her way to the Cafeteria to get the "Sunday Brunch," which was actually not too bad. When she had first gotten her schedule, she'd been angry at having an open 2nd and 4th period on Friday. Now, she was thanking the gods or whatever powers had managed to set it up that way. The two open periods gave her a chance to finish up any assignments while she was still adjusted to learning mode. Very seldom did she have anything but some review on the weekend.

She showed her meal card, signed the register, and took her place in line. It would be a few minutes before the Serve Yourself Serving Lines were opened and this was that part she hated most! Standing here in line put her on display, sort of, and she normally seemed to feel lust from all the males, but today it was mostly from the jock nearest her in the line behind her. Like most girls her age, Sharla did not mind the knowing that she incited male lust. No, it was that she seemed able to sense images of what they would do if they could! And that did bother her.

Shaking from her shameful thoughts of sordid retaliation against the jock, she overheard from an open office door, the well-known voice of Bob Arnold snarling. "Charley, the trash has won." Bob was one of the campus' most respected trustees. "It looks like we are going to have to bring the outside tables back inside next week." Sharla knew Bob had one of those "High and Mighty" titles, but he was a regular Joe and one that never had to pull rank to get the students to pay attention to him. "Huummm, come to think of it, I don't think I have ever heard any one refer to him as anything but Bob," she thought and moved forward slightly to hear a little better. The trash situation was heavy on her mind of late.

"Bob, none of the litter blowing across the student union lawns and around in Administration Square Park is from the Cafeteria." A deeper voice responded, tinged with a hint of defensive anger.

"Yes, Charley, your kids have done very well . . ."

Sharla felt that Bob was really in full support of Charley's position.

Charley's deep voice interrupted, "Two of my people have been going out after they punch out" he fairly snarled this, "for about an hour every night this week! Each night they've collected a big garbage bag full of litter."

"Charley . . ."

With a wry grin, the red haired eavesdropper felt Charley's rising defensive anger and began thinking things like "Charley, keep cool! Charley, Bob is really on your side! Charley, cool your tool, it will work out!"

"'Sawrite, Bob. I admit, so far all they've managed to do is clean up the front of the Cafeteria and in and around the flower beds. Friday, I asked how much of the litter came from the Cafeteria. Paul said he found an apple wrapped in one of our napkins, Kerrey told me she had found a piece of cake one day and a couple of cookies on another day that were still wrapped in our napkins. Damn it, Bob, the majority of the trash comes from those fast food joints, Wendy's, MacD's, Burger King, and Pizza Hut. Surely the committee will understand . . ."

Sharla felt a nudge; actually more of a huge paw shoved rudely against her firm butt, and jumped forward a little. Rather than turning to glare at her attacker, she concentrated on the conversation between Bob and Charley, deeply concerned with their problem. She was one of those who loved sitting at the outdoor tables.

"Charley, I know how hard you had to fight to put tables outside so the kids could eat and talk and read out there when the weather is good."

"Well, you can bet that those three old crows will be driving their cronies on the committee through here at 10:30 tomorrow morning, saying 'Look! Oh, how terrible. That's what happens when you don't keep the kids in a controlled environment'."

Sharla felt another rude push, but resisted momentarily, wanting to hear more.

"Then, next month, when they drive by again, it'll be the same mess, even though the kids will have been locked back inside for the month!"

"Charley pay those two kids overtime for the extra work, and I'll auth ..." The line started moving, Sharla was nudged into motion and heard no more.

When she did not spot anyone she felt like talking to, she took her tray out the back door to the picnic tables Charley and Bob had been discussing. Setting her tray on a nearly vacant table, she really looked around. The lawn of the student union building was leprous with free-floating trash, mostly paper. The curbs of the street were loaded, and the big park across the road, Administration Square looked like a main street for trash. Eddies and swirls of paper and leaves slunk towards her, across the pristine grass. With a soft, sibilant sigh of disgust, she sat down.

The two at the far end of the table, probably seniors, were obviously looking at the same thing. Sharla listened intently as she heard the young woman say, "Nope, it happens every year. The weather pattern changes and every bit of paper, leaf, or other light garbage from the fair grounds and Commerce Street gets puffed by the gusty wind into Administration Square."

Sharla could not hear the guy's comment but she heard the woman reply, "Of course they plan for it. Normally, it happens around the end of August, when they have all sorts of early worms hired to spruce up the campus for the new term. Anyone who wants some extra hours can come here and pick trash until they are tired of it." The woman then stood and pulled the guy to his feet. "That's how I got the extra cash I needed for Rush Week the first two years I was here," she said as she balled up their lunch bags and tossed them in the basket, then laughed lightly. "Where do you think I got the money for that sexy little mini-skirt that hooked you, m'luv?" Then they were both out of earshot.

"I wonder how fast my little Litter Getter could work, would work on this mess," she mumbled softly, her full so-kissable lips scarcely moving. Sharla forgot her lunch, becoming lost in her thoughts, allowing her mind to wander back to the dorm, to seek out the two bolts of invisible cloth secreted there. The two rolls of magic asbestos cloth were on the floor, in that little hidey-hole under the left drawers of her desk. In her mind's eye, she imagined one of them sliding smoothly into the center of the room.

Quietly, visualizing the one roll partially unrolling on the surface of the yucky Institutional Grey carpet covering the dorm's floor, she then folded the end over onto itself, until she had a double thickness that was perfectly square. Satisfied, she had two of the open edges unravel ever so slightly a scant fraction of an inch, then ordered the fray to weave themselves tightly together to form a flat bag with perfectly sealed edges. So there could be no possible "leakage" she had it close its open side with a smooth, toothless zipper like its famous counterpart she had used as practice earlier.

At last, declaring the action sound, she visualized her revamped Little Litter Getter on the sidewalk scooping up a soft drink cup. Next she ignited the Miniature Dancing Flames on the inside. The bag collapsed and she had it move, then open to swallow another piece. The bag closed and inside Dancing Flames worked happily and the bag quickly moved, opened to get another piece.

Satisfied she had a working model fixed firmly in her mind, to create later when she returned to the dorm, she pulled herself out of her daydream and attacked her brunch selections with delicate seriousness. "Geeze, this is actually tasty, for once!"

Some twenty minutes later she was just about finished eating when a gentle gust picked up the paper used to wrap her straw. When it fluttered away from her frantic clutching at it, she flipped her long, shapely legs over the bench. She spun clear around on her saucy, shorts-clad buns, all the while concentrating fully on tracking its flight. It landed on a clear section of sidewalk. Without thinking, or considering she had sat at the table with her back nearly against a low hedge forming a perimeter around the cafeteria's patio, she started to get up. Oh, oh, something had snagged at her top, nearly baring a conical breast. Keeping an eye on the errant paper, she located the attacking splinter and using her fingers, gently pulled her top free. Before she could stand up, the straw wrapper had disappeared.

Thinking the breeze must have moved it further; Sharla looked about the area where it might have been blown. No straw wrapper! A yellow wrapper with red lettering crumpled briefly, drawing her eyes to it. She saw WEN and then the wrapper was gone. Just gone! Her mind whirred and clicked and she suddenly remembered the baskets, loom, and spinning wheel!

Another click and she remembered what she had visualized no more than a half an hour earlier. A loosely wadded candy bar wrapper suddenly winked out of existence. Recalling how she had been able to talk to her creations in the window, she said, "Getter? Is that you?"

Once more she felt the wave of emotion she had felt at the storefront. Another bit of litter winked away.

"Way to go Getter!" she mentally cheered. "Clean this campus up!"

"My goodness! I did it again! I made magic! And it works!" She stared at nothing, watching litter wink out of existence a piece at a time.

"Getter, are you going to be able to clean this campus up?"

Her question was responded to with a surging wave akin to exasperation. She sensed the little Litter Getter was asking for help.

"Well, if I made one, maybe I can do others. Yes, I can do it." She turned and looked again at the slowly widening area cleared of scraps of paper.

"It works! By golly, it works just as I imagined it. I did magic. I have used The Power."

Once again smiling at herself, at her silly imagined image of a scantily clad Amazon Warrioress, Sharla hustled back to the dorm, braless boobs bouncing beguilingly, as fast as she could make it. Stripping to the buff, because her garments were now sweat-soaked, as soon as she entered her room, she hurried to check the Misty Dawn story to see if she could do something to make improvements to her Litter Getter. Snatching the story from her bag, she flopped naked on the bed, already in "study mode." A concentrated reading of the entire contents, followed a quick half-hearted scan of the pages, brought her up sharply unhappy. "Oh no!" she wailed in anguish. "This can't be!"

It, once Misty's detailed day-to-day instructions of a practicing witch, was now, somehow, just a light-hearted, fun story, full of amusing anecdotes.

Suddenly Sharla felt totally lost. Had she lost the Power? Had she done something wrong? She could clearly remember reading about the dancing flames and the loom, and spinning wheel, and enough detail to visualize a caller and cleaner. The information, the detail was not there. "Is someone playing mind games with me?" She wondered dejectedly.

Then, as she carefully straightened the pages she'd crumpled in her frustrated anguish, Sharla punched on the radio, and swung her feet off the bed, comfortably naked, prowled restlessly about room. She listened only half-heartedly to Valerie, her favorite DJ, obviously only barely smothering a smirk as she announced.

"And now with the dirty details of an unusually trashy accident, we go to our reporter on the street." The lady DJ making the announcement had a vibrant voice. "Can you fill us in on this spill, Ron?"

"Thank you, Valerie! This is Ron Hubbard, and this is Action ninety-six point five, FRONTLINE News, on the scene, where about twelve cubic yards of light trash, mostly paper and leaves, has been accidentally dumped and is now being rapidly blown towards Commerce Street and the Fair Grounds.

"According to witnesses on the scene, a group of 5 or 6 young children, reportedly about ten or eleven years old ran across the street, in front of the "DeWitt Hauler," one of this City's newest weapons in the war against litter. The driver braked hard and swerved onto the sidewalk to avoid hitting any of the youths.

"It has been reported that the children disappeared down the street, and it appears they never noticed as the top-heavy truck slowly turned onto its side. The tightly fitted heavy fabric used as covering on these specialized truck beds split and disgorged an avalanche of trash across the street.

"The gusty winds we have been experiencing locally picked up the paper and sent a trash storm swirling down the hill. Potential rescuers of the truck driver could not get to the driver's compartment for about five minutes because the virtual blizzard of paper was so thick.

"As I speak, about fifteen minutes after the accident, most of the trash has been sucked out of the truck and is now working its way down Beacon Hill Road. The driver is reported shaken, but otherwise unhurt and no one else was injured. And Valerie, if you are planning on shopping on the Beacon Hill Road, head for the top end. The lower four blocks is a swirling torrent of trash several feet deep, slowly working its way down to Commerce Street.

"Once again, from the Beacon Hill Road Accident site, where no one has been hurt, but a lot of trash spilled, and the lower four blocks of Beacon Hill Road temporarily blocked by trash, This is Ron Hubbard, with Action ninety-six point five FRONTLINE NEWS. More information as it becomes available. Back to you Valerie."

The radio faded into background noise as Sharla spotted the material, still on the floor in the middle of the room.

Suddenly driving all seeds of doubt from her mind, Sharla seated herself in the desk chair. Studying the almost invisible fabric on the floor, she tried to reconstruct the lunchtime mood. Slowly forming in her mind the picture of the fabric on the floor, she then folded her image over and separated it from the rest of the roll. Her concentration was so deep that she saw but did not record what was taking place on the floor in front of her.

In a matter of just seconds she'd formed six more foot square Litter Getters. She had a one-foot piece of the magic material left. Dividing it in half, she fashioned two six-inch square Little Litter Getters. Now utterly certain in her mind, she unrolled the second roll and swiftly stitched seven more big Litter Getters and two more small ones. Carefully envisioning it in her mind, she stacked the almost invisible creations on the middle of her desk.

She was panting and as sweaty as she had been after completing 16 laps in a half hour during last Wednesday's PE Class--building the bags had used psycho kinetic forces the young psionic adept was as yet unaware of possessing--and drew heavily on her physical strength for the energy she needed to create such wonderful gadgets. Braced and comforted by the strength of her desk chair, so cool against her almost feverish naked skin, she was slowly catching her breath.

Sensuously stroking the almost-not-there stack of asbestos bags, Sharla now marveled, softly to herself, at herself, "I haven't completely lost it! I haven't completely lost it! I wonder if the Dancing Flames will work?"

Hastily grabbing up the wastebasket; it hadn't been emptied, she knew, since Wednesday and, with a twist, she dumped it, strewing wadded paper all over the floor. Softly singing the "Off to Work" theme from "SNOW WHITE" she flipped one of her bags onto the center of this mess. Visualizing the open-surround-close-Miniature Dancing Flames cycle, and then picturing this "disposeofit" cycle repeating, and again, she told the bag, "OK Missy, you know what you are supposed to be doing, so show me you can do it."

Almost instantly papers disappeared from the center of the floor. "Stop! Missy! Stop!" Sharla laughed gaily at her creations almost human reaction, the bag opening looking ever so much like a mouth showing extreme disappointment. "It'll be okay, I promise! I just want you to give your friends a chance to practice." Sharla chuckled as she tenderly picked up the cute Li'l Litter Getter and placed it on the bed. Still giggling softly she picked up the stack of Litter Getters from the desk and spread them around on the room floor, kicking paper out of her way as she moved.

When the last of them had been placed she said, "Listen up ladies, you need to practice." Sharla visualized one open-surround-close-Miniature Dancing flames "disposeofit" cycle. "OK, one time, go."

"OK, one more time." With sixteen Litter Getters working there were only a few small scraps left on the floor. "All you full sized ladies join your partner on the bed and let the little ladies clean up." She felt or sensed something akin to "giggles" coming from the twelve joining the first one on the bed, and something close to girlish excitement as the four small units popped to the floor.

Quick as a wink, the other scraps disappeared from the floor. "OK, little ones, join your big sisters on the bed. I'll take a shower and get dressed. Then I'll take you where you can really have fun." Sharla grabbed some clean underwear, no bra and just a sheer fuchsia thong panty, a denim shortall and a white T, before heading for the shower. "And all of you! Stay on that bed!"

Speedily washing in the shower, Sharla mused, "I've sure got a good imagination. I'd swear that those Litter Getters are happy and excited. I could almost believe they're answering me."

The first of the twilight gloom was settling around the base of the buildings as she arrived at the Cafeteria Patio. "Time has really flown," she thought. "I'll have to get something to eat at the Student Union and then get back to the dorm! I still have to wash my hair." She knelt down and deposited her bundle of Litter Getters on the sidewalk where the first one had started. "Listen up ladies," Sharla quietly said before continuing, "There is a lot of litter here on campus for you to chomp. If you get it all here, there is a lot more goodies up on Commerce Street, Beacon Hill Road, and the fair grounds for you all to gobble up. Avoid cars and try to not let people see you. Go and have fun, come back to the dorm when you are tired." A wide and rapidly expanding circle of litter free patio and lawn marked the action of the Litter Getters. "Go girls, go!"

Sharla suddenly realized she was starving.

After getting more than a meal from the vending machines, Sharla, with long, shapely legs scissoring provocatively below her new snug, almost-too-short "Shortall," cut across the now litter-free lawn of the student union. She still had to wash her hair before she could get some sleep.

She woke up feeling full. "Maybe that food binge last night was not such a good idea," she admonished herself. At lunchtime, she still felt totally stuffed! And sluggish! Instead of eating lunch, she cut across the lawn past the Cafeteria Patio hedges. As she ambled slowly along she heard Charlie's voice.

"Bob, what's the verdict?"

Bob's pleasant voice answered. "No litter, no case! So, the outside tables stay. Since the litter has all but disappeared, maintenance is going to use the extra bodies hired to clean the streets and paint the curbs."

Sharla was so stuffed she couldn't work up any enthusiasm over the good news. Slowly approaching the dorm, she noticed a work crew up the block. The men, most of them big, brawny, tongue-twisting HUNKS, were armed with push brooms and wading boots and working around the fire hydrant. Being a red-blooded American Girl, she eyed them a moment, then realized they were going to flood the street.

Braless breasts a bobbing, she hurried, away from the sudden flood of heated emotions surging from the men when they all seemed to spot her watching them. She quickly crossed the street and then headed toward the dorm's entrance. Lined up beside the door along the sidewalk were a number of fat ash-gray pillows. She stopped to consider this strange sight. There were fourteen pillows about a foot square and four about a half-foot square.

Like a lightning flash, understanding struck the red haired coed. Those were her Litter Getters! Paper and most other materials contain a small amount of clays and other things that the Dancing Flames can't convert to a basic gas. "Ladies," Sharla declaimed, sensing their "bloated" condition was somehow the cause of her own "bloated" sensation. "In just a moment, the street is going to be full of running water, gently empty your loads into the running water."

As the Getters arranged themselves along the curb, Sharla watched the crew opening the hydrant. She was hoping that they would release enough water to allow her Getters to disgorge their wastes, and leave it on long enough to wash it fully away. The man with a tool on the top of the hydrant slipped and a huge jet of water shot out the side of the hydrant blowing away whatever fitting the thick hoses were fastened to. The jet of water initially shot clear across the road, but then settled down to dump a heavy stream in a roiling boil just short of the middle of the road. In seconds water was running almost to the top of the curb and she could see gray powder sifting out of the Getters into the water.

Over the rumble and susurration of the rushing water, she heard a man's voice. "John, this wrench broke. Get to the truck and call dispatch. Have them send a wrench immediately. Tell them we have an open eight inch hydrant on a thirty-six-inch supply line." One of the men on the other side of the street took off running across the lawn for the big truck parked in the corner of the parking lot.

One by one the Getters were emptying themselves and disappearing. Six greatly reduced Getters were left when a fire patrol truck raced to a stop. Two men jumped out and hurried over to the hydrant. Four Getters were still left. "The excitement is good for me, I don't feel stuffed any more," Sharla thought as one more Getter took off.

The men connected the wrench and tried to turn it, two Getters were left. Another man grabbed the wrench and added his weight unsuccessfully. They repositioned the wrench and paused to catch their breath. The last Getter emptied and disappeared on the other side of the sidewalk. The man steadied the wrench with his left hand, while the wrench crew recovered their breath, then tugged the wrench to make sure it was properly seated. The valve turned smoothly and the horizontal bar of water ceased. "More coincidence?" wondered Sharla as the man stared at the hydrant in astonishment.

Feeling incredibly light now and tired, Sharla sighed and whispered softly, "Come on, girls! Let's go take a nap."

 

 

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© 2002 by Christy Lake. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, compilation design) may printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without express written consent of the copyright holder.