The Jim Morrison Heist Pt. 01

"Aww. You think Jim would like that?" she asked.

"Surely he wouldn't've disapproved. Now that you're not so pressed for time, fast food is off the menu. We'll dine at a restaurant with plastic menus, linen napkins and waiters."

Special treatment always meets with approval. Jallen lived further from Zoey than he initially let on, a small lie of his own omission that needled him too. After dinner they arrived at his digs at nine.

"Shower first?" he asked when they walked through the front door.

"Silly question, Jim Morrison first."

Jallen made an elaborate ceremony of reverently placing Zoey's panties on top of the washing machine in his kitchen. "Fresh out of sandwich bags. Pity."

Zoey rolled her eyes. "You're going to wash my thong?"

"To be honest, yes. You didn't think I'd hold it over my nose on lonely nights home alone thinking about the good old days, do you? I'll launder it before we go to bed and return it fresh and folded like the gentleman you think I am. Can't have you bare assed in class tomorrow."

"I always keep a spare pair in my back pack. In case of emergency."

"Don't let any perverts know or you'll be buying a new one when it goes missing." He led her through a hallway to a closet door. "Give me a hand clearing away the boxes I've got stacked in front of the safe."

"Why pile boxes in front of it?"

"To obscure it from any casual would-be burglars. But all these boxes of books would hardly deter professional thieves or worse, safecrackers."

After they got started, Zoey said, "These damn boxes are heavy. Why don't you buy get yourself another bookcase and stack some old furniture in front of your safe?"

"We can skip looking at memorabilia if moving boxes around is all too much. Myself, I'd rather make some more love."

"You're an unquenchable satyr. What kind of books are in these boxes anyway? Encyclopedias?"

"See for yourself."

Zoey stacked the box in her hands on top of another out in the hallway and looked inside. "Shit! All these books have your name on them."

"I have written poetry books purchased by big name publishers before, but those are privately printed copies of ones from younger days, when I was not good enough to find a real imprint. My early poetry didn't sell as well as Jim's," he chuckled. "Neither does the current stuff."

While he spoke Zoey was bent over the cardboard carton digging through its contents. "There's two, no three, different books in here."

"And these other boxes have four more unsold works of mine."

She opened one of the slim volumes with the dodgy title Secretions, read the first poem. Jallen noted her miniskirt had ridden up once again and she couldn't be bothered tugging it back down again. He admired the vulgar view of her half naked ass cheeks nearly as much as he enjoyed the sight of her lips moving while she was reading. She turned the page, read the next one aloud:

When I heard her whisper

I knelt down and kissed her

And ran a finger down her cheek

I drank from her fountain

Looked up at her mountain

Wondered if I could scale her peak

I tasted her of course

Drank juices from the source

Got so drunk that I could not speak

She sang some songs unsung

Spread open for my tongue

But everything she said was Greek

When I picked her flower

I could feel her power

She made me strong yet also weak

"Wow, iambic pentameter. These are great, professor."

"They're crap, sweetheart. That's the reason I have a few hundred leftovers. But thanks for saying so."

"Yeah, but I mean it."

"The artist in me says thanks, but the dirty old man in me says keep talking like that and I'll hump your hips out of their sockets."

Zoey giggled like some girls will, and he felt his cock swell again.

She asked, "Can I get copies of these since you have extras? I'll pay for them. How much?"

He set the box down he'd been attempting to pass to her, stepped over and palmed her pussy. "You don't have to pay for them. I'll give you a whole box of the blasted things if you like."

"Will you autograph them too?"

That made him fully erect and he yanked her skirt up higher. Parting her thighs he slid into her (she was sopping) and commenced fucking her so hard her tits bounced. He lifted her jumper over her head and off so he could watch real poetry in motion. Zoey gasped in appreciation, opened her legs wider still and began uttering unintelligibly like she had in the car.

"Remember what I said in the back seat about my no clothes rule?"

"Yuh-yuh-yes."

"That applies in this house too. You're too beautiful to wear a stitch. It'll make me write a whole new batch of poetry I'll dedicate to you. That's what I call inspiration." He mentally began composing something naughty just watching the juddering of her spectacular soft but firm breasts.

"Ohmigod, ohmigod," she mumbled. Her tits danced exquisitely.

"You're not going to be able to walk tomorrow," he observed.

Her voice rose considerably, "I k-know, IloveyourdickIloveyourdick."

He wished Jim Morrison could see him now.

* * *

Zoey knew her professor wouldn't be the only one writing new poetry tomorrow. She might spend hours composing poems of penises splattering her with tributes to her beauty. The sight of all his own books, though unsold, inspired her too. Jallen stood naked in front of her in the hall. She stared at his cock without embarrassment. No longer did she think of him as not being very good-looking, especially with that wonderfully big thick pussy pleaser hanging between his legs. Semen leaked from her and strings of it clung to the insides of her thighs. She had to wait to catch her breath from the spontaneous fuck he'd thrown her.

Jallen Delete was not only a cocky poet, he was a demon lover as well. After putting her through her paces in the middle of making a walkway to his safe he'd taken that fountain pen he graded papers with at school out of his shirt pocket and signed all seven different titles Zoey meticulously selected from among the cartons.

Inside the last one he autographed he also wrote:

I know a girl who

Excites all five senses

The sound of her voice

The sight of her face

The touch of her hand

The taste of her kiss

The smell of her skin

Her perfumed smell of girl

Sends me to other realms

Because my sense of smell

She all but overwhelms

If I lose sight or taste

The music in my ears

I could tell just by smell

And lay to rest her fears

I choose not to lose

My hearing, sight or taste

Missing three of five senses

Two senses

Too much

To waste

"Wow again, did you just make that up?"

"Yep, I'm particularly inspired tonight."

"Thank you," she said and leaned forward to kiss his dick. She sucked it into her mouth and slurped on it for half a minute, for good measure.

He appeared exceedingly pleased. "Do you want to borrow a pen?"

"I can't compose as fast as you."

"I'll go shower and leave you alone so you won't feel self conscious."

"What if I want to shower with you?"

"What am I thinking? Come along then."

"What about the Lizard King?"

"He won't go anywhere. I'll show the stuff to you tomorrow morning before we leave."

"Not after we shower?"

"After bathing with you our next destination will surely be bed."

"You'll be randy again that soon?"

"Told you I was inspired."

She found it romantic to shower together and make love tenderly and slowly late into the wee hours with rain hammering on the roof. After the long passionate night and wake-up fuck in the morning they had showered together again amid some sporty grab assing.

Drying off afterward she said, "I'm glad the rain finally stopped."

"I didn't mind it too much. Make the drive back to Hogfarts quicker. What are you staring at?"

"I think you know what. This must be the first time I've seen it not in its rigid state, raring to wade into battle."

"You might want to jot that down, for a future poem mind."

"Remind me later," she said, looking in the mirror while she ran a comb through her wet hair.

"Breakfast?" suggested Jallen.

"I never eat in the morning. Speaking of poems I would really like to peruse those Morrison books of yours. I don't want to forget."

"You don't want to dress first?"

"You said something about no clothes on in the house and that'll give my hair some time to dry. How about right now? Nothing could be better, reading Jim Morrison starkers, with you unclad by my side."

"Aren't you a wild child."

"And I'm full of grace too."

In his bedroom he paused to open a chest of drawers, poked around until he found a Doors T-shirt. "I don't have any pants that will fit you but maybe you can substitute this for the top you wore yesterday. It won't look so much like you're wearing all the same clothes again at school today."

Zoey thanked him with a kiss and they went to the hall closet. She stood behind Jallen as he opened the safe and reached inside to retrieve the items she'd waited so patiently to see. Returning to the living room she cradled them deferentially in her arms against her breasts. She set them on the coffee table and sat down on the couch.

"Jim Morrison actually touched these?"

"From his hands to mine."

"Wow, I've seen photos of these for years but never thought I'd actually be holding them."

First she unwound the red string around two red cardboard buttons on the back of a royal blue folio, opened the flaps in back and lifted out a sheaf of loose yellowish parchment pages. She glanced at each one as she counted them back into their folio, reading the shorter pieces.

"I count things too," Jallen said. "Why are you counting the pages?"

"To make sure there are 82."

He scrunched up his face, puzzled. "Why would that be?"

Zoey said, "Simon & Shuster got hold of a packet missing three pages and published the 79 they had along with The New Creatures book. You're lucky to have the unabridged compleat version, professor."

"I never knew about that. My turn to wow."

"Some expert you are. And someone counterfeited a second edition and added a title page. That's a dead giveaway it's a pirated copy."

"Be damned. Are you surprised Morrison didn't autograph it?"

"Not at all. He signed very few of any of them. I believe the reason is because he wanted to shed his Jim 'Lizard King' Morrison snakeskin image. He wanted to use his real full name instead of Jim."

She rewound the string of the folio and leafed through the second book, the same size as a tall rack paperback. A cheap brown cover adorned this collection, the spine black taped to hide the staples holding the contents together. In the middle of the cover The New Creatures was embossed in gold with James Douglas Morrison in smaller type below. She thumbed through it, stopping occasionally to smell its pages. Jallen didn't tease Zoey, sat reverently beside her on the couch, giving her all the time she wanted to indulge herself. It didn't bother her in the least he stared at her nakedness while she read. Admiration and adoration she'd gotten used to.

She went through the books in chronological order, paging through the final and smallest book with a burgundy cover. Its meager 44 pages of text contained An American Prayer, a single long poem divided in four sections, the only book of three crediting Jim Morrison on the cover. Zoey smelled the pages of that one too.

She set it down and thanked Jallen with a hug, a kiss and a gratuitous wiggle of the shapely mammaries she prided herself on.

"Well, now that you've stared into the hollow idol's eyes do you have any takeaways from the experience?"

Her faraway eyes closed. "Can you see how hard my nipples are?"

"Ahh, the coveted 'two nipples up' review. Is the couch cushion you're sitting on wet?"

"Evil decadent men can always get a girl's juices flowing."

"There's a title somewhere in that statement. Any final aesthetic or intellectual musings?"

"Yes, permission is granted to use this on the back cover, professor. The Morrison private collection isn't exactly The Spoon River Anthology."

Jallen howled with amusement. "I'm so glad. Had Morrison lived he'd be almost 80, so who knows what heights he'd've reached in the overall cosmic scheme of American poetry. And now that you've examined all of Jim Morrison's privately printed work in existence with your own two eyes, are you happy?"

"Fulfilled is a better word. You don't know what that meant to me. Mr. Mojo Risin' did good. That's an anagram for Jim Morrison y'know."

"Is it really? All these years I never knew that either, be damned. Now the student is teaching the teacher. If it's alright with you, Zoey, I'll lock these back in the safe now." Jallen lifted the three relics off his coffee table and walked into the hallway singing a perfect imitation of Shaman's Blues. Zoey clasped her hands over her mouth unsure if she was amazed or amused.

She stretched her back and arms then put on his Doors T-shirt. Not a bad fit. Rummaging through her pack she remembered the engraved invitation she received yesterday when she saw it again. She set it to one side and resumed the search for her emergency pair of panties. Zoey pulled those on, then carefully stowed Jallen's own privately printed books away. Her denim mini skirt would have to suffice for school today. She slid it up her legs, wiggled her bum into it, zipped up and closed the button. Removing the invitation from the envelope she looked it over again as Jallen reentered the room.

"What'cha reading?" he asked.

"Arrived in my letterbox yesterday. A party invitation for this weekend."

"It's not a college party, is it?"

"Nyet, comrade, it's off campus."

"May I see?"

She handed it to him.

He read aloud, "The Summer Solstice Sects Magick Masked Ball & Ritual Celebration. Runesgate Manor, Chas Park, Far Owls, Distrikt 33. Good heavens, Zoey, this is positively pagan." She liked the change in his tone of voice and over the top sarcasm.

"Meaning it wholly meets with your approval." By now they made faces at each other communicating unsaid, understood things. She made a face.

He wore a lazy grin. "99.9% approval. Who sent this to you?"

"Some minor royals. Lady Anyys Rowling-Boyle."

He exclaimed, "You know the Rowling-Boyles?"

"I do, but moreover dad does, he's an MP. I've met Lord Alvin Boyle and Lady Anyys a number of times over the years. They're actually more acquaintances than friends. Do you know them too?"

"Never had the pleasure but I've heard rumors she's a Black Veil."

"Is that some kind of mystery school?"

"Nothing like that, love, but the word on the street is Lady Anyys is a vampire."

"Nothing would surprise me where royals are concerned. What's a Black Veil?"

"The way I understand it is they're discordianist magicians."

"Oh that explains everything. What does it mean they do?"

Zoey's question forced him to organize his thoughts. "Well, it's fair to say they dabble in using satire and art and sex to work black magick spells among other things. Are you planning on going to this Rowling-Boyle affair?"

"Not sure yet. Don't want to go to a party without a man on my arm." Zoey paused then asked, "Would you like to escort me?"

"Oh, I wouldn't miss it for the world."

TO BE CONTINUED . . .