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Paulette

By: GToast



As normal, inspired by real events and people, but almost entirely fantasy. There's some explicit sex, but not much, so it's really not a stroke story as such.

I live in the 'burbs of a smallish city; that is, small enough not to have major problems, big enough to hat the critical mass needed to have a museum, a First Night celebration, a performing arts center, like that. The kind of place where rush hour last for thirty-five minutes, normally.

I'm a technical writer, and thanks to the modern era, a telecommuter. I work for firms on both coasts, as well as in the heartland. I've been doing this job since the mid nineties; I was newly divorced, my newspaper career was going exactly nowhere, and the opportunity to make sense out of jargon appealed to me.

So, I relocated to this city, found a nice quiet house in a small subdivision, and settled into what became a very happy and comfortable routine.

It's rare I have to go downtown, but on occasion I do; and one day's venture changed things for me fairly significantly.

I had a problem with the tax collector's office. They had me on file as owing back taxes on my house, incurred by the previous owners but my responsibility nonetheless.

One problem: I was the original owner. I bought the house before it was completed, and have been the only occupant. I'd hired a real estate attorney, well before closing, to research both the property and the builder. The place was clean.

I'd been round and round with those idiots on a few occasions, but for some reason, every couple years this problem re-surfaced. I was getting pretty damned tired of the routine.

So it was that I found myself in a foul mood, carrying a briefcase, marching into the county government building.

When my appointment time came, I was ushered into a room where one of the assistant tax collectors was sitting. He looked up, saw me, and his face drained of color. Yeah, I'd dealt with him before.

"Get your boss in here," I snapped. When he didn't move, I said, "Now! I'm tired of you assholes. I want this thing finished to-day!"

He scurried out, and returned a few minutes later with the head honcho. He saw me, and he, too, realized it was going to be a bad morning.

I pulled out my written documentation, and then a videotape. "I recorded this the last time I was dragged down here. It clearly show you and moron #2 here, " I gestured to the assistant, "admitting I owed nothing in back taxes, and swearing on a stack I would NEVER be harassed again."

I flipped the tape to him; he caught it, and I continued, "Right after I leave here, I'm heading for the TV stations. I'm going to make your life hell."

He cleared his throat, and began, "Sir, I'm really sorry about this..."

"Shut up, you incompetent motherfucker!" I spat. I got nose to nose with him. "You get this shit straightened out now. Last warning, asshole."

I turned, put everything back in my briefcase, and stormed out.

As I hit the street, my adrenaline was still pumping, but I had simmered down some; that's when I heard the sound that changed things.

There was a thud behind me, a scraping sound, and a woman's voice yelled, "Help! Stop them!"

I turned around to see three young men, teenagers, I judged, running approximately toward me, carrying a purse with a broken strap. Behind them was an older woman, laying on the sidewalk, partly pinned under a wheelchair.

I realized these thugs had mugged a disabled person, and my blood pressure spiked.

As the lead thug ran past me, I stuck out my leg; he caught it and went flying, landing with a crunch against a tree. More accurately, the metal grating around a tree. The purse skidded across the sidewalk.

I reached down to retrieve it, and felt a sharp sensation in my arm.

One of the other little bastards had stabbed me.

I was so enraged, I turned and brought my briefcase up in a softball pitch, catching him under the chin. A couple of teeth flew out, and he went down in a heap.

The first kid got up and ran, the third kept boogying, and the second, the one I'd hit, staggered to his feet, used some vile language, and then collapsed again.

A police officer arrived at that moment and cuffed the little bastard; his partner grabbed me, sat me down, and said, "Hey pal, take it easy, we've got an ambulance on the way."

I was confused, until I started getting dizzy. I looked at my arm, where I'd been stabbed, and I was bleeding impressively. The rescue squad showed up, bandaged my arm, insisted on taking me to the emergency room.

I won't detail the events of the next couple of hours, which consisted of a tetanus shot, interviews with a couple of detectives, and lots of paperwork.

Just before I was cleared to go -- I was dressing; they had seen fit to make me strip and wear a hospital gown over a knife wound -- I heard a mechanical sound, and the edge of my privacy screen moved aside.

There sat a young woman in a wheelchair. It was the same person I had seen before, but up close I could see her hair was platinum blond. It had appeared grey from a distance, and was cut short in the style many older women prefer.

"I'm Paulette," she said, proffering a hand, which I took. "I'd like to thank you for your help this morning.

I chuckled. "All I did was prevent a theft."

"Don't be modest," she scolded. "I've lost my purse before, and had to replace all my cards, my IDs, the whole works. Not under these circumstance, I'll grant, but it's still a pain."

I smiled at that. "I can imagine."

We exited the ER, and stepped out to the parking area. "I guess I need to find a cab, "I said, "to get me back downtown. I need to retrieve my car."

"Mind if I tag along?" she asked.

"Not at all," I replied.

We found a taxi, and within twenty minutes I had gotten my car out of the public lot.

"Can I drop you somewhere?" I asked.

"Sure," she said, "I could use a lift home." She gave me directions, and off we went.

When we arrived at her apartment building, she said, "Why don't you come in for a while? It's almost five o'clock, and I could say 'thanks' by making a light dinner."

I shrugged. "Best offer I've had all day," I said, grinning.

We entered her apartment, and I was immediately struck by the arrangements; everything was lower than normal, a reasonable accommodation, I figured, for someone incapable of reaching very high.

She bustled around the kitchen, and I sat at the table in the dining nook. We made chitchat as she cooked; where we originated, schools, marriages (I'd had one; she'd had none), kids (none all around) and the like.

We ate a very tasty meatloaf with the trimmings, and the dinner and conversation stretched out until after seven.

We retired to the living room, where we had coffee and more conversation. Around eight, I said, "I need to get going. I have a meeting to prepare for, tomorrow, and I didn't get all I needed done today."

She said, "I'm sorry."

I realized how it must have sounded. I laughed, and said, "No, no, I meant because of tweedledee and tweedledum at the tax office. This time with you has more than erased the rest of the day." Oops, did it again. "Wait, I mean, made up for the rest of the day." She giggled at my failed attempts to take my foot out of my mouth.

I stood. "I really need to go, before I do my reputation some real damage." I leaned over and kissed her on the cheek.

She blushed, and said, "Could you maybe come back Saturday? I've enjoyed this evening, too. It's been so long since I've been with anyone. I mean, socially." It was her turn to stumble, apparently.

We both laughed, and I said, "Deal. I'll bring dinner."

She smiled broadly. "Deal," she repeated.

I finally left in one piece.

The rest of the week was uneventful. I got through my meeting, sharing the previous day's odyssey to oohs and aahs.

Saturday afternoon, I called Paulette to see if we were still on (we were), and cooked up some good stuff. I bundled things up and drove to her building.

She met me at the door looking lovely, wearing jeans and a pale blue pullover top which did nothing to disguise the fact she did not appear to be wearing a bra. Down, boy, I mentally scolded

We had to heat a couple of items, and then we ate a nice dinner. She was as impressed with my skills as I had been with hers.

After dinner was almost a repeat of our first evening together. She sat on the edge of her sofa; I sat in an adjoining easy chair. We continued to share increasingly intimate information.

"So," she said at length, "I guess it's time I told you about... what happened."

I frowned. "You mean the other days, when those kids..."

"No," she interrupted, gesturing at her legs, "I mean... this."

"Aaah," I said, "pardon my doofusness." We both chuckled.

"It was right after high school," she continued after a moment. "I went with some friends, including my boyfriend, to this lake not far from home, sorta out away from everywhere. 

"We were diving in what we thought was a deep part. It was, but a tree trunk had, I dunno, fallen or drifted or something. My first dive, thunk, there goes my lower neck.

"We'd been skinny-dipping. I mean, we were all couples, and my boyfriend and I had been having sex for a few months, so there were no secrets. It's not relevant, I guess, except my friends didn't want to dress me before help got there. So I'm laying there naked while I'm being carted to the hospital. Insult to injury, you know."

We fell silent for a moment. "I'd been offered a swimming scholarship. Ain't that just the way?" she said, and laughed a trifle bitterly.

"So," I said, trying to change the subject a tad, "How far.. how serious...? I don't even know what to ask."

"The good news, I can feel everything down to about mid-thigh. It still means I can't walk, but I can still... well, you know."

Our eyes locked.

"You're referring to..." I started.

"I'm twenty-six," she started, "and I haven't had sex since I was eighteen. I can do myself, but guys are just, I dunno, freaked or something. You're the first date I've had in years."

I regarded her. I believed she was telling the truth.

"Look," she said after a moment, "I'm not going to throw myself at you. If I've assumed incorrectly, I'm sorry. You just seem like a nice, generous guy, and I thought, well, maybe there was something there."

I got out of the chair, sat beside her on the couch, and took her in my arms. She responded with a hug, and then we shared a kiss, tentative at first, then more and more passionate.

I broke the kiss. I reached over, grasped the hem of her top, and pulled it upward. Her arms raised to allow the garment to slide off.

"So," I said, looking her in the eye, "you have no problem with me doing that?"

She laughed and said, "Nope!" She then took my hands and cupped them over her very attractive breasts.

I kneaded them lightly, gently. "You have a nice, soft touch," she murmured.

I then picked her up, sat her in my lap, her legs straddling, and began to suckle softly on those sweet orbs. She rubbed the back of my head, moaning softly, appreciatively.

She began to rock back and forth, rubbing her mons over my increasingly painful member. Finally, she said, very huskily, "Take me to the bed."

I complied.

I undressed her, and then myself. I lay prone beside her, moving a finger in and out of her pussy, and she growled, "Please, enough foreplay. We can do that some other time. I haven't had sex in years, and I need an orgasm, now!"

I positioned myself, and slipped into her velvety glove in one motion.

The truth was, I hadn't had sex in quite a while myself, and as much as I hate to bang a woman (as opposed to making love), I found myself doing just that. I thrust hard, fast, roughly. She responded by making unintelligible sounds I interpreted as an impending orgasm.

At that point I lost all control, erupting with a roar. I kept it as quiet as possible, but I was not fully in control.

After, panting and sweaty, I gazed into her bloodshot eyes. "I'm sorry if I came too soon," I said, "but it's been..."

She put a finger to my lips. "You did okay, Jeff, you did okay. Three orgasms is plenty."

As I withdrew from her and lay beside her, I said, "Three? Really?"

She looked at me. "You couldn't tell?"

"No," I replied, "but, I hate to say it, I was really more concerned with my own penis at that moment."

She laughed lightly. "You deserved it. You certainly had me satisfied."

We lay there for a moment, spent, and then she said, "That was the best I've ever had."

"And you were the best I can remember," I replied. "Though, to be truthful, I've not acted like that since, well, my first time." We both chuckled. "I'd like to make love the next time. Assuming there's a next time," I added.

She touched the side of my face. "I think I can accommodate that."

"Then turn over on your left side," I commanded. She looked puzzled, but complied.

"I have a saying," I continued, "the love-making is not complete until the back has been scratched." With that, I began to make, long, slow strokes with my fingernails, not too light, not too hard.

She moaned in pleasure, shifting her torso to indicate where my ministrations were most needed. After a few moments of that I kneaded the tops of her buttocks, and finished by gently massaging her scalp.

In a very thick voice, she muttered, "So where have you been all my life?"

We both chuckled at that. I reached around her waist, cupped her left breast with my right hand, and held her as we both slipped into slumber.

******

I'd love to report to you how that night became two, and then four, and then a lifetime of joy and love. I'd love to say we were wed, and had small children. It would give me comfort to describe a new medical technique that allowed her to regain the ability to walk.

Sadly, I'd be lying if I wrote any of that.

The first few weeks after that initial evening of sexual bliss were filled with lovemaking and deep, soul-filling satisfaction; but as the glow of romance settled into the process of living together, we found we were too different. We were sexually synchronized, perhaps as much as it's possible for two people to be; but in the end, that just is not, was not, enough.

We parted company as friends. For the next few years, she'd still call me up, every couple of months or so, to invite me over for an evening of passion, and I'd always honor her offer. Sometimes I'd call her; the result was always the same. We were good friends, with benefits, close and intimate and caring; and then, a few years ago, it just ceased.

I don't know whatever happened, and I felt no urgency to pursue it. I have the memories of those sweet years, and they're enough for me.

Paulette, Peg, and J vs. the Amazon



(This will make a whole lot more sense if you have read Making Work a Better Place)

*The Discovery Channel is like traveling the world without all the bugs*

The odds of being hit by lighting while flying a twin engine plane is pretty high; the odds of having the second engine fail under the strain is said to be astronomical (whatever that means). All I know is that rest of the passengers are freaking out. For me it is the wildest rollercoaster ride ever. I've heard 'we are all going to die!' plenty of times and it had never happened.

"I love you," Paulette sobs. She squeezes my hand.

"We can't die," I promise her, "you haven't had the chance to divorce me yet." Paulette giggles hysterically. What? I am being serious.

"I am not going to die here," Peggy growls. I reach across the aisle and squeeze her hand too.

"Peggy, we have an excellent pilot, two wings, and plenty of wind. We are going to land and walk away from this, trust me," I say in the most loving tone I can manage.

"Joshua you are an idiot," she says with a smile that eases some of her tension.

"And if I can plainly see that we are going to live, how can I be wrong?" I honestly reply.

"I wish I could hug you right now," she tells me.

"I think that unbuckling during a crash voids our insurance policy," I inform her. And they tell me that I never read any corporate stuff. Peggy laughs at me.

"We are going in!" the pilot screams back to us. I stick my head between my legs. I'm not sure why. If I'm going to die, the last thing I want to see is my own ass, especially with Paulette's and Peggy's so close by.

There is a whole lot of noise reminiscent of the time I stuck a plastic plate into the shredder combined with off-road four-wheeling in the Mojave. I'm glad I'm not the only one having a good time. Everyone is screaming. We are bouncing around in our seats and I give a little "Weeee" even though my stomach hurts from the belt digging in.

We come to a stop and I sit up. People are gawking and weeping for joy. I turn to Paulette and grin,

"Boy, was that fun or what?"

"Joshua, we all nearly died," she says in an exasperated voice though she's smiling too.

"Peggy, are you okay?" Peggy nods though she looks nauseous. I unbuckle and stand up.

"Is everyone okay?" I ask the rest of the people onboard. Since this is a corporate jet and everyone is an employee of Dad, I figure this is the responsible thing to do. People start sounding off. It turns out that two of us have something wrong.

"Peggy, what do we do?" I ask my better third. She stands up and starts giving orders to move the injured people into the aisle and finding things to make splints. Paulette has come to my side and wrapped an arm around me.

"I'm glad you are okay," she says softly.

"I share that sentiment," I snicker and she punches me in the ribs. I love it when I use their phrases against them. It proves I am paying attention. The pilot comes up from the cockpit.

"Okay everyone. The copilot is unconscious, but I'm okay."

"When is help going to get here?" That is Vince Ryan, our VP of Acquisitions. He's the guy who is actually in charger here. I'm just along for the ride.

"The radio is fried. I'm not sure word got out that we went down," the pilot informs us.

"What? What are we supposed to do now you idiot?" Ryan growls. The pilot looks pissed.

"I guess I need to go get help," the pilot angrily admits.

"Alone? How stupid do you think I am? You'll die and I'll be stuck here," Vince growls.

"I'll go with him," I find myself saying. I feel like Brad Pitt. From the looks I am getting from Peggy and Paulette, they must be thinking that I am Jonah Hill. Whoops.

"I'll go along with Joshua," Peggy pledges.

"Me too," Paulette declares

"Great, Stupid and the Moron will get the two of you killed as well," grouses Vince.

"Hey! Don't you call my ladies stupid or morns," I snap. Vince rolls his eyes. Paulette grabs my arm before I walk down the aisle and pound that bastard.

"Come on Love, he's not worth your while. Let's figure out how we are going to get out of here," she tells me softly.

When we get back to the front of the plane, the pilot opens the door and the heat and humidity blasts in. The pilot leads the way out.

"Okay Mr. Townsend, this is the plan; according to my last bearings there is a large village about one hundred kilometers to the northwest of here. We'll move along a river that runs a kilometer north of here. I figure we can make it in four days if we push it."

"Our biggest problem will be water," Peggy points out.

"Honey, we'll be right next to a river," I sigh and roll my eyes. Sometimes Peggy misses the obvious.

"Joshua, we try not to drink the local water. It has ... things in it that will make us sick."

"Whoops."

"We should be able to gather up rainwater in some of our thicker knit clothing," Peggy suggests.

"Good idea," agrees the pilot.

"Let's tell the others," Peggy tells us. "We can't do anything about the food. The local supplies will probably only last four or five days if they are lucky, so we can't take anything with us."

"I'm afraid so," says the pilot. "It is going to be tough. Are you three sure you want to come along?"

"We have a better chance of success if we all go," I point out. "If one of us gets sick or hurt, we can still keep moving ... or so that guy on the Discovery Channel told me." All three of the people sigh in a way that suggest I said something right but in the wrong way. Maybe I should stick with lessons learned from Thunder Cats and the Rundown.

Peggy and Paulette go to tell Vince and the other employees the game plan. The pilot and I go and get the luggage. A few people from the plane come out and help. One of them tells me that Peggy needs my help. I go inside and find Vince in Peggy's face.

"Is there a problem?" I ask.

"Shut up you moron. You and your bitch aren't going to tell us what to do," Vince declares.

I'm thinking of what harsh actions to take when Peggy's knee impacts his nuts with a savagery that makes my own nut sack want to withdraw into my body. Vince collapses like a punctured balloon.

"Don't you dare call him a moron again, you pompous windbag," Peggy snarls. No one says a word. "Does anyone else here have a problem with the plan?" Slowly everyone shakes their heads. "Fine, the four of us are heading out as soon as we have your rain-catchers set up. Ration your food like adults and plan on it lasting for five days -- six if you can. Help should be here in eight or nine days, so hang in there."

"What do we do if you don't come back," Grace Waheko asks. She's our chief accountant on the project we've come down here to work on. She's smart but scared.

"You know where we are going; try to follow along as best you can," Paulette tells her.

"Why don't we come with you?" Luis Alameda questions.

"With two people hurt, you would slow us down and a few people going are our best chance of everyone getting out. We are all in very good shape. We'll make it and send back help," Peggy outlines for the group.

People start nodding. Peggy goes outside and we start changing into more practical clothing. I'm thinking shorts and a t-shirt, but the pilot points out we are going to be going through some serious jungle, so we end up in long-sleeve shirts, jeans, and boots. I lose a few seconds watching my women getting dressed. Paulette catches my gaze, rolls her eyes but smiles. What can I say? I dream about her and Peggy. I'm horny as hell for them when I'm awake.

We have been gone a day and I'm proving to be God-like. I introduce the group into the joys of eating bugs which once you get used to the slimy and crackly goodness are quite filling. At night the bugs return the favor and feast on us. They are not alone. We settle in around a nice big tree when Paulette comes over to me and snuggles into my lap. She gives me that wiggle and nibbles on my ear.

"Woman, I'm too tired for sex," I beg off. Paulette giggles and grinds harder.

Apparently I'm not too tired for sex. When Paulette finishes me off, she goes to a spot few feet away and snuggles under a leaf blanket. I sigh and start to roll over when Peggy comes over and settles into my lap.

"Please Peggy," I plead, "I'm too tired for sex. I'm ..." and she starts kissing me deeply while her hands roam over my chest and lower.

Apparently I'm still not too tired for sex. Peggy completes her mission with me finally, glides off and snuggles next to Paulette. I notice the Pilot looking my way and smiling.

"For the love of God Man; I'm too tired for sex!" I scream. He chuckles and rolls over.

The next day we are trekking through the forest and the Pilot is talking about what good progress we are making. He compliments on us all being in such good shape, me in particular. He finds that amusing for some reason. We come through some brush and a bird come plummeting from the treetops. I'm thinking how good chicken tastes, but I seem to be the only person looking at the bird. Everyone else is looking around for the source of the arrow in my lunch.

Several short, coppery men in little Japanese diapers come out of the brush; with a number of spears and bows.

"Hi," I wave. Apparently hand gestures are forbidden in their culture. They start screaming and saying shit in something that isn't Spanish at me.

"Don't move," Peggy whispers to me. She should have said that to the Pilot because I have no intention of doing anything that might piss the man with the pointy stick. Our pilot bolts into the brush. Four guys run after him and the rest of our new friends rush us. I count the odds 9:3 (or 3:1 as Peggy tells me later) so I do nothing. My attackers pull up short and scream at us.

Since they are still screaming at us seconds later, I guess standing still is a good thing. Finally one of the guys with a real nice haircut starts telling the rest of them what to do. They bind our hands in front of us and start leading us off in a different direction than the Pilot took.

"Don't do anything sudden," Peggy warns me.

"Doing something sudden had never actually occurred me," I grin back at her. One of the natives looks me way so I smile (without teeth -- thank you National Geographic Channel). He smiles back. Peggy chuckles.

"I'm afraid they are going to kill our pilot," Peggy sighs.

"They will never catch him," I declare.

"What makes you say that?" she asks sadly.

"We sponsor him for marathons," I inform Peggy.

"We sponsor people for marathons?" Peggy wonders.

"Of course we do, but we are going to miss him in the bowling leagues," I admit.

"We have a bowling league?" Peggy questions.

"Sure. They aren't as good as our Girls' Softball Team, but they usually place in the top five each year," I relate to her.

"We have a Girls' Softball Team?" Peggy gawks.

"They took All-City last year," Paulette tells Peggy.

"Peggy, don't you read the corporate new letter?" I ask.

"Not the sport's section," she mumbles.

"The Girls' team has been better than our Seniors' team, but this year we have Gustav from Facilities Services coming on board for the Seniors," Paulette giggles gleefully.

"Sure, he was our best outfielder on the Men's team," I confirm.

"We have a Seniors' team?" squawks Peggy. It goes on like this for quite a while. Poor Peggy needs to get out more often.

Our introduction to the village of our guest is quite entertaining. They have rustic round homes without walls, little children running around, and no knowledge of bikinis. What's not to love? Well, Peggy tends to see the down side of things and points out the human skulls on poles around the place, but I want to see them as honored ancestors and not past cooking successes.

They leave us in one of the smaller homes for most of the rest of the day. The people are nice enough. They give us this mild alcoholic beverage, some fruits, vegetables, and a meat I identify as rat (how I know what rat taste likes is another story). After some convincing, I get the girls to eat their rat. It is not great, but it is plentiful.

All the girls and old people stop by, talk at us, and poke us. They smile and laugh, so I smile and laugh too, which they find hilarious. Peggy and Paulette are convinced they are going to eat us. In response I try to convince our hosts that we are a high cholesterol, artery clogging meal that they would live longer without eating. If they spoke English I really believe I would have them convinced. As it stands, I'm not so certain.

Come nightfall, the real party begins. All the men get around a huge fire and dancing and much drinking begins. Peggy and Paulette are gnawing on their bonds. Having been bound up by women with some real talent I tell them they have no chance with fibers this tough. Drunken men start coming from the gathering, talking to us and prodding us. They are smiling a lot (or maybe just showing us all their teeth). I smile and nod.

A large, totally sloshed band of men come up. They get us to stand up. The girls are telling me that they love me. I reply, but I'm not sure why they are so upset. This isn't my first 'kegger' after all. They start stripping us down; me first, then Peggy, and finally Paulette. When they finish stripping Paulette they go nuts. It's like they've never seen a woman with a cock before.

"Oh God, oh God, oh God," pleads Paulette.

"It's okay," I reassure you. "They think you are a Goddess." No one says anything for a few seconds.

"What makes you think that?' Peggy questions.

"Yes," Paulette asks, "why aren't they killing us right now?"

"Didn't either of you go to college?" I asked.

"Joshua, both of went to college, but I don't know what you are talking about?"

"Trust me, when you go to enough Frat parties you start to figure out what drunken people are saying," I state the obvious.

"You want me to believe that because they are drunk you can understand them? That's impossible," Peggy mutters.

"Whatever you want to believe, but I'm telling you they all see Paulette as an unobtainable girl, aka a Goddess. Don't believe it if you like," I shrug.

"Peggy, it makes more sense than anything I can come up with," Paulette admits.

"I hate to say it, but I have to agree," Peggy said.

"Have a little faith; multiplication tables I'm not so good at, but being drunk -- I'm a master."

"Fine 'Master', how do I get us out of here," Paulette asks nervously.

I sighed with infinite patience at the hopeless naiveté normally reserved for me.

"Food and Drink; ask for them to give us food and drink."

"I think I can do that," Paulette announces. She is shaky on the first few steps forward, but when she rises up her arms heavenward the natives fall back. 

When Peggy and I make to follow, the closest Indians get vocal. Paulette pust a gentle hand on them then directs for Peggy and I to follow. There is a different tone to what they are saying.

"Joshua?" Paulette whispers.

"I'm not sure but I think they are talking about a gangbang," I tell her.

"No, poor Peggy," Paulette gasps. Peggy doesn't look too happy too, so I give them the good news.

"They don't mean Peggy; they mean me." Neither woman looks as relieved as I thought they would. Now that I think about it, I'm not too relieved either.

"How do we stop them?" Peggy asks.

"Well, whenever a Frat Brother played grab-ass with me I would hand them a beer. Hand someone enough beers and they lose interest," I suggest. Peggy grabs the closest gourd of homebrew and takes a gulp.

She nearly spews. I can tell her she's never done this before. Paulette manages to drink it down and rubs her belly.

"More," she demands. They all stare at her. I take the drinking horn gently from her grasp and start to slowly drain it. This stuff burns the hair off my toes -- smooth it isn't.

"Skoal!" I shout.

"Skoal!" shout the locals. We get rounded up by the rowdy crowd and taken to the fire. I start to think that some of these guys believe they are heavy drinkers. Clearly they've never survived Plebe-week. I stack up a good many soldiers before the last one goes down. 

Maybe I should put this down on my job resume. I'll ask Peggy when she comes back from puking her guts out. Paulette is lying down with her head in my lap looking up at me. She keeps asking me if she's a pretty girl. I tell her she's going to be my wife which makes her smile and giggle. A minute later we repeat the process; still she holds her liquor well for such a little thing.

The next morning two of the older guys and I are walking around, washing naked in the river, and laughing at most of the other members of the tribe. Paulette joins us while we bathe. It seems she's never had a hangover. I tell her she looks ravishing which makes her come over and get frisky. Peggy glares hate our way and tells us to stop breathing so loud.

Paulette and I are rewarded with their handy little loincloths and head out hunting while Peggy gets dragooned by the women. Our tour guides are shooting birds and little monkeys out of the tree at a prodigious rate. They keep running over and touching Paulette who causes them both to grin and laugh. Paulette asks me why; I sigh and reminder her that she's a Goddess.

We bag two little hairy chipmunk-like ponies that Paulette calls Capybaras who are apparently big rats. All the local hunters seem real impressed with Paulette because she's such good luck. I know she's good luck to me. We come back to Peggy who looks terribly pleased with herself. She tells us she's started a Women's Rights movement. I'm confused; aren't women always right?

That night we have another party with a lot less drinking. Peggy and I talk to their leaders -- apparently talking directly to the Goddess is forbidden to them. After some careful prodding Peggy figures out there is a Christian mission a few days away by river and they've agreed to take us there. Peggy thinks it is because they like us, but I think they are afraid Paulette will start eating them.

The next morning the village sends us off in two canoes with two oarsmen each. This is like summer camp except no one is rowing out into the middle of the lake and leaving me to paddle back on my own. Paulette and Peggy are having a good time until I point out the really big snake coming toward us.

Paulette screams 'Anaconda!' and beats the poor thing to death with her oar. This really impresses the two guys with her in the boat who pull it in. I think that's our dinner, and I'm proven right. Raw snake isn't half bad. The rest of the trip that day isn't half as much fun, but is easier on the wildlife.

That night we eat some prepared fruit and the snake. Peggy tells me it is twelve feet long which is bigger than any subway sandwich I've ever eaten. Our buddies give Paulette the skull, but they have a strange request as well. It takes me a while to figure out what they want until one grabs my cock and points at Paulette.

Initially I think they want me to have sex with Paulette (always a plus) but then Peggy suggest they want to touch Paulette's cock instead (not so much a plus). Paulette decided to allow it and they seem very impressed. Afterwards Paulette so horny that she has hot moaning sex with Peggy and the five of us guys get to sit back and watch. I get slapped on the back a lot, but I'd rather be having sex.

I still get to snuggle with my loves for the night which still makes me one lucky man. The next day we clean up in the river then head out again. More than once Paulette's crew paddles off to have her make a further dent in the native creature population. Peggy and I make a vow to keep Paulette away from blunt objects from this time forward, because she now scares us.

A bit past noon we approach a different native settlement. It looks much like the one we left, except this one has a large cross at the river line. Our guides are getting nervous and by the signs of our welcoming committee they have good reason to be. Either our guys have been eating their guys or their guys eat our guys.




Paulette, Peg, and J vs. the Amazon



Peggy tells me that it may work both ways, which doesn't make me any happier. Fortunately a white lady comes down to the waterfront with several older villagers. Our Indians drop us off in the shallow water; give Paulette one more pat, and race off the way we came. Our lone white lady calls out in English.

"Who are you?" She's an American.

"Hey," Peggy calls out, "we are part of a plane crew that crashed a few kilometers away. Do you have a radio?"

"We sure do," the woman responds. "My companions and I are missionaries. I'm Ellen and my husband and leader is Jack. What are your names?"

We walk up to her and the new locals give us some space.

"I'm Peggy, and this is Paulette and my male friend is Joshua," Peggy says by way of introduction.

"We are together," I add.

"Oh," Ellen studies us, "are you a ... couple."

"They are my ladies if that is what you mean," I say cautiously. Ellen comes up and strokes my arm.

"My boy, I totally understand. We are Mormon's too," she says with a smile.

I'm about to say something but Peggy pinched my arm.

"Why isn't that wonderful," Paulette says while I am distracted.

"I never suspected to find polygamists like us out here," Ellen grins. I have no idea what a polygamist is but I am smart enough to know I should shut up. It apparently means that I can have sex with both my girls in the same hut at the same time and still be a Godly person. I think Mormons rock, but Paulette insists that we be Episcopalians. 

The next evening, with help on the way, we are sitting around the campfire eating a hearty dinner with our new friends when there is a sudden disturbance at the edge of the camp. The Pilot comes staggering in, looking like hell and babbling about a plane wreck, dead companions, and cannibals. He takes one look at Paulette, Peggy, and me and passes out.

When I get home everyone tells me I'm the luckiest man alive. I must be smarter than I thought, because I already knew that.