3 comments/ 14244 views/ 3 favorites Anchored By: the_hemingway "Any plans this weekend?" the kind old professor asked as he slowly packed his bag. Kady looked up from her screen, relaxing her furrowed dark blonde eyebrows. She took her cat-eye thick-rimmed reading glasses off and bit her natural minty lip-balm drenched lip. "Uh yeah – my family and I are going away to our hunting cabin." She said as she fiddled with her pencil. "Oh yes that's right – you wanted to go home early for that tomorrow." He said and she nodded; she was hoping he would remember about her family's little tradition. "Well that'll be just fine." He decided and she perked right up. "Really?" she asked and he nodded. "This old office will be waiting for you to come back – nothing's going anywhere. Why don't you just take the day off?" He chuckled as he waved his arms around his library-esque office. He was the head of UBC's Anthropology Department and she was his second-year intern trying to grease the wheels so she could make the field school next spring. "Thank you so much Professor Kearney!" she exclaimed and he waved goodbye, a smile under his bushy white moustache. She had liked him from the get-go; she had had him in her first year and decided that he was the guy she needed to get in with. He said he liked her spark and hadn't seen such a strong love for the subject in a very long time. It had made her smile so wide she thought her insides might burst. She quickly wrapped up her data entry from his chicken scratch notes and hauled her own notebooks into her gray canvas backpack. She grabbed her phone and dialed while she packed. "The Hemingway." A darkly warm, gruff voice answered – she knew he'd pick up. "My table ready?" She asked; phone clutched to her ear as she swung her olive green military coat over her peach and cream sweater and wound her dark cerulean scarf around her neck. "Bad day or a good day?" he asked, the pub was loud in the background. She glanced at her brown leather wrap watch – if she hurried she'd make the hockey game. "Why do you care?" she snorted as she slipped her laptop into her bag and snatched her keys out of one of the many pockets. She kept her keys in the little narrow long pocket on top of the main flap, along with her collection of pens, pencils, highlighters, and other school supplies. "I'm a bartender – I need to know if you're drinking beer or whiskey." He said and he could hear her smile through the phone. "Oh, well in that case it's been a good day." A riot of wildly anarchic, honey blonde hair surged its way through the door and towards the corner table. He cocked his head and watched for a pair of busted up cowboy boots to ramble their way across the worn floor, he knew no one else had hair like that but he also knew she barely ever wore a different pair of shoes. Cowboy boots sighted, he raised his eyes and found an iridescent pair of icy mint blue ones. A single sepia island floating in the lower section of her left eye melted the frozen ocean abyss. God she had long lashes. "Hey trouble, wassup?" she said, her naturally shaped brows rose in greeting as she tossed her signature hello. As she pitched her backpack onto the table he couldn't help but chuckle. "The girl with the bag fulla notebooks." He said and she smiled. She had selected that table specifically. It was right next to the bar, so she was close enough to get her drinks delivered to her but yet she wasn't seated at it, so she didn't look like an alcoholic. It was far enough from the speakers so that she could hear herself think but still catch the words of The Hemingway's rock and country blend that she loved so much. It had a big enough table and bench to spread all her books out on and an outlet so she could charge her laptop. It was a fifteen-minute walk from home and a two-minute drive, her little Jeep Wrangler could find parking any day of the week due to its hairpin turn radius and tiny frame. Since she lived on the street she could park for free too. Her seat also had prime views of the street and of a TV – which her beloved Canucks now played on. "Score?" she asked as he carried out her Bud in a bottle. She hated glasses. He hated that she drank cheap beer and on several occasions had convinced her to try a different kind but alas, she was still drinking Bud. "Nil-nil, puck dropped about three minutes ago. Two shots on us; Garrison, Hank, and Burrows have shot for us." He filled her in and she grinned as she took a swig. "What's with the smile?" he asked and she laughed. "Kearney gave me the day off tomorrow – meaning I can get to camp like half a day earlier than anticipated." And he chuckled. Though she dressed like a typical Vancouverite and attended one of the top forty universities in the world, this girl was a redneck through and through. "I'm surprised you don't have any sorority business to attend to. Now you can be a hick sooner than you thought." He teased. She was a Kappa Gamma girl, complete with a tiny anchor tattoo – the location of the tattoo was still secret to him. "You're just jealous you can't go 4x4-ing and target shoot and drink beer all day." She tossed back and he shrugged. "I am – I have to work." And her jaw dropped. "No way! Jace that sucks." She said and he nodded. "I thought you and your parents we're gonna get together?" she asked. "We were – don't know if I'll make it on time." He sighed and she looked around. "When's Tyler off?" "All weekend." "And when's he back?" "Tuesday, why?" and she grinned. "Be right back..." and she scooted out from her table. "Kady..." Jace warned and she tossed him back a killer smile, "Watch my table!" he groaned as he went back behind the bar and started mixing drinks, his eyes on her. She touched Tyler's arm as she spoke to him, and when he gave her an answer she didn't like she pouted those perfectly bee-stung, pale pink lips of hers and begged. Tyler sighed and then gave her a smile. She grinned a mega-watt one in return, touching his arm again before heading back over. "What did you do?" Jace asked her and she smiled. The speckles that danced across her face accentuated her tan, it was fading but the freckles gave it staying power. "Tyler has a date on Tuesday and is trading for your shift tomorrow so he can make it." She said as she glued her eyes back on the television screen. "You're going on a date with Tyler so I can see my parents?" he asked and she just about spat out her beer. "Hell no – I set him up with my friend Catherina." "Thank god." He laughed. "You still road tripping up with The-One-That-Got-Away?" he asked her and a cloud of pain flashed over those eyes. He blinked and it was gone, was it even there? "Yes." She stuck her tongue out at him as any mature nineteen-year old would and focused her attention back on the screen. They did this almost every night. On hockey night, he served people and talked with her on commercial breaks. On regular nights, she talked with him when he wasn't too busy mixing drinks. That was another thing she loved about The Hemingway – it was never dead and never crazy busy. It was lively most hours of the day – she stayed here working until the wee hours because it was open late and then ended up here again in the morning for their famous cheap Hung-over Breakfast. "How's Zeppelin holding up?" Jace named her massive longhaired German Shepherd as the first period ended. She looked up at him and was taken aback by how bloody attractive the guy was. "He's still a little loopy from the meds." She said and he smiled, that trademark lopsided smirk of his was toxic. "Poor guy. He'll be up to your morning death wish soon enough." He said and she rolled her eyes. "It's not a death wish – wouldn't be able to keep up with my team if I didn't." she said. She played starting defense for the UBC Thunderbirds women's soccer team; she sported number thirteen. "Nothing wrong with running Kade, there's just something wrong with running before noon." He winked as a skinny brunette walked up and starting flirting with him. Kady smiled and pulled out her Moleskine notebook labeled Methods & Ethics and started flipping through last class's notes. They had a test the day after she got home from the cabin and she wanted to be prepared. "I don't understand why you don't just by full notebooks." He said as he snatched her old bottle away and replaced it. The sudden motion had taken her breath away too – but he seemed to have had that affect on her ever since they met. "Because! The idea of a shelf full of little black notebooks, labeled by my class, easily accessible knowledge...that really appeals to me." She said as she turned to look at him. He was standing a little too close for comfort, he had done it on purpose but no one else but her would be able to tell. "And it's got this little pocket that I can stick photographs and diagrams in." she said, looking away from his whiskey eyes that were so outrageously amber they were bordering on rude just for existing. "I have them for more than just class, you know." She said, suddenly a little embarrassed by her habit. He didn't need to know that she color-coordinated her highlighters with her page tabs or only wrote certain things in certain colors of ink. "Oh?" he asked, raising one of those thick dark brows, in particular the one with the thunderbolt shaped scar that bisected it. Lacrosse injury. "Yeah, I have one for every trip I've gone on. I have one for recipes, one for numbers, one for lame-ass drawings, one that I carry around with me everywhere, like a little day planner. Only I write lists in it, and thoughts. And stuff. They have printable pages that you can stick in yourself on their website so you can customize it..." she trailed off, embarrassed again. "You have a lot of knowledge at your fingertips." He said softly smiling as he traced his long finger over the curve of her notebook. She made the mistake of looking up at him and got lost in those pools of melted amber; they glittered darkly. The stubble that ran along his strong jaw and taunt cheeks was the same shade of espresso as his hair. The hair that was styled in the exact way that made her want to run her fingers through it. It was an effortless I-just-rolled-out-of-bed-after-a-hot-night-and-can't-be-bothered-to-fit-it-because-it-looks-sexy style. She rocked the homeless version of that look often, as her own hair repelled any sort of styling. "Jace! Get your ass back here!" the other bartender Max called and he loped off, his stupidly large frame weaving easily through the throng and towards the back. It was dinnertime. Her stomach growled as a reminder that she hadn't ate since breakfast, which was a simple fruit smoothie and omelet. She hoped Jace's broad shoulders would push their way back to her so she could order some dinner. "Fish tacos, extra guac and hot pepper sauce, half the cilantro and another beer." Jace slid the plate under her nose and her mouth watered. The second period had just ended and she had cracked her notebook again. "How did you know?" she asked as she polished off her beer and handed him the bottle. "It's Friday, 'Nucks are on. It's Taco Night." He grinned as he stepped away – she didn't miss the large swell of his biceps trapped in his tight black tee as he held a massive tray of drinks. The wait staff must be backed up. She bit on her baby pink nail, analyzing which taco to eat first before digging in. God, they made the best tacos. By the time she had finished the Canucks were up two over the Bruins with two minutes left – nothing made her happier. Except maybe when Dixie came home from the shop with brand new 31's and a lift kit, that Jeep tore though the bush like no other. "You studying tonight?" Jace asked as he brought her a glass of water in a mason jar. She smiled thankfully at him as he took her plate and empty beer bottle away. "Yeah, I think I want to get some of my terminology done before I go." "Zepp gonna be okay?" he asked and Kady glanced at the time. Leah would have gotten home an hour ago. He was good for another few. "He should be. Leah took him for a walk with Basil." Basil was her best friend and roommates English Bulldog. "Want a tea or anything?" he asked, he knew her so well. "Maybe in half an hour or so. Thanks Jace." She smiled at him and he nodded. "You're the one who got me outta my shift tomorrow." And he slipped behind the bar again. They had met at a party a friend had dragged her too; it was at a friend of her boyfriends at SFU. Jace played lacrosse for SFU along with the boyfriend. He was two years older than she and had grown up in Point Grey, attending one of those prissy elitist academies. She was from Surrey and had gone to Catholic School – it was a much lower end budget private school but she loved it just the same. She had asked him point blank why he was bar tending when he obviously could afford not to work. He had simply shrugged and said he didn't want to rely on his parents more than he needed to. His father was the head of a multimillion dollar construction company, Jace's business school degree would help him take over the family business one day. He didn't relay that information to her until he was several keg stands in. They had hit it off remarkably and he had invited her down to The Hemingway to check it out. That had been over a year ago, and here she was still. Maybe it was the fantastic environment, or maybe it was the ridiculously attractive bartender that kept her coming back but she loved the place. She also loved being friends with Jace. He was funny, smart, and laid-back. Yeah he flirted with everything that moved and got more ass than a toilet-seat, but he offered sound advice to her about everything, and in return she ate at his bar most days. And nights. "Leah?" Kady asked as Leah pushed her way through, two leashes in her hands. The Hemingway, like a lot of places these days, was dog friendly. "He's being staring at the door holding his leash in his mouth since I came home." She giggled as Zeppelin found Kady and wagged his tail, patiently waiting for her affection as he butted his massive tan and black head against her legs. She cooed as she leaned down and rubbed his ears. After he was satisfied he took up his usual position at her feet, right next to the heat vent. The floor to ceiling windows also gave him a good view of what was going on outside. "There's the brute." Jace said as he came out. Zeppelin saw him and crawled across the floor to greet him. Jace was the only guy that Zeppelin trusted, besides Kady's dad and her brother. She had always wondered why. "I got something for you. I hear you had a rough week." He said as he handed the big puppy a piece of meat. Zeppelin wagged his tail but didn't take it. "Eat Zepp."Kady commanded and he delicately pulled it from Jace's outstretched hands. "I can't believe how gentle he is." Jace marveled as the dog chewed it up, his tail wagging furiously. "VPD kicked him out of K-9 unit training after only one day for that exact reason. Their loss, my gain." She smiled as she rubbed his ears. "Alright, been nice folks. But I have to go, Marty has some stupid reading I have to attend." She rolled her eyes as she waved goodbye to Jace. "You gonna come home?" Kady asked, noting she had Basil with her. "Probably not." Leah said and Kady nodded as she watched her beautifully dark friend leave. "One tea." Jace said as he handed her a steaming cup of Earl Grey, one sugar. It was in her favorite worn blue mug. She smiled at him and he returned it. He shouted last call and a surge of men made their way to the bar. "Tea? That's your poison?" a guy asked as he slid in next to her. Zeppelin growled from under the table. "Easy there...holy cow your dog is huge." The guy said and Kady smiled. "He just doesn't like men. He'll be fine, he doesn't bite." And the guy grinned and introduced himself as Connor Monday. "What's a pretty thing like you doing in the corner of a seedy bar drinking tea?" he asked and she smiled and pointed to her notebooks. "Studying." She said plainly. He was kind of cute. In a typical polished Vancouverite kind of way. "And what are we studying?" he asked, his blue eyes coy. "Methods and Ethics of Anthropology." She said and he raised his brows. "The study of humans? Fascinating." She hated it when people defined it like that – it was so much more. "I find it that way." She smiled softly and he grinned. "Let's get outta here – my place is only a few blocks away. We'll split a bottle of wine and you can tell me all about Amthropology." And she cringed internally. "Anthropology." She corrected and he shrugged nonchalantly. "Potato-patato." He eyed the door and then her again. "You're the hottest woman in this joint you know that?" he asked and she shook her head. "I think I'm gonna stay right here and just study." She declined politely and he coughed. "Pardon you?" he looked extremely taken aback that she had declined his apparently divine offer. "I do not want to sleep with you." She spelled out slowly and he pushed back away from the table. He swept her cup off the table, she gasped as it slammed against the bar and cracked in half. "Fucking uptight virgin." He cussed at her as he turned. "Hey buddy." Jace grinned before clocking him hard enough to send him straight into tomorrow. Zeppelin was up and pacing, his ears back and teeth bared. Kady was trembling as she collected the bits of her cup off the floor. By the time she had, Jace had kicked Connor Monday to the street with the toe of his black motorcycle boots. Zeppelin barked, something he rarely ever did before Connor tried to kick him. Zeppelin neatly avoided him and nipped him on the heels, Jace glaring as Connor stumbled down the strip. Kady held the three parts of her cup together and tried her hardest not to cry. "You okay?" Jace asked as he came back inside, Zeppelin licked her arm and she turned to smile at her two heros. "Thanks boys." She smiled at Jace and kissed Zeppelin on the head. "He broke my cup." Kady pushed her lip out and Jace smiled softly as he sat across from her. He held the pieces of the cup up and sighed. "What happened?" he asked, even though he knew what happened. He had heard most of their conversation. "He was trying to get me to come home with him. I said no, and he called me a 'fucking uptight virgin' and broke my tea." She said trying not to cry again. "What a dick." Jace swore. "I mean he's right, but he didn't have to break my cup." And Jace couldn't help but laugh at how torn up she was about her cup. "What do you mean?" he said and she looked at him. He had never known her to be the girl to go home with just any guy; in fact, he had never known her to go home with any guy. She hadn't even really dated since he'd known her. "You're not uptight or high strung Kady." He said when she didn't answer. "But I am a virgin." She breathed as she met his eyes bravely. He paused. This bombshell sitting across him was a virgin? Who the hell wouldn't have snapped that up already? She was stunning, beautiful. "How?" he finally managed to stutter. "I don't do casual sex. I don't do half relationships; I'm an all or nothing kind of girl. I take a while to fall in love with someone. And an even longer time to fall out of love with them. I...I mean I'm single so we can see how well this is going... it's kind of old-fashioned of me but, its how I've always been." She exhaled, her eyes glued to her cup. Anchored in Love "For Michelle Bannister I'm Scott Sandstone, good night." Immediately after the red light darkened Michelle stopped the fierce hand job she had been unleashing on Scott throughout the entire 11:00 broadcast and began to orally pleasure the middle-aged anchor while manipulating his scrotum. "We have to stop doing this," Scott muttered "someone's going to figure out what you're doing and we'll both be on the chopping block." Scott had known Michelle was a nymphomaniac for some time, she performed every act of sexual gratification imaginable within the tope walls of the WNAR studio. No employee dare say anything- they knew it was only a matter of days at the most that they would be in Scott's position, who was now gagged and tied to the anchor desk while Michelle rode him like Ace Ventura in the Consulate General's car. Though each man who took his turn with Michelle was left satisfied; she was listlessness, devoid of passion. This dispassionate look was observed by the empathetic and tender Andrew Schnatter. Andrew, or, "homo" as he was affectionately known to the rest of the staff refrained from being ravaged by Michelle, for reasons unclear to everyone save for himself. Andrew knew how he felt about Michelle, and sure, he had a great desire to be sexually obliterated by her, but Andrew felt a deep emotional connection with her as well. His desires were so strong that the thought of a once-and-done sexual encounter with her was as repellant as never being able to hold her in his flabby, ample arms or to having her wipe the sweat generated simply from rising from a chair from his brow. His longing had been tortured by her exploits for the three years he had been with WNAR after graduating from Marywood University with a degree in Radio/Television Communication. Even though the events that broke Andrew's heart were always instigated by Michelle herself, members of the staff were always intruding. Andrew now watched in horror as chief meteorologist Sam Smitz sauntered to the news desk and casually proceeded to urinate on and around the intertwined co-anchors. As the clear warm liquid wet the pair Michelle's nipples began to harden and she, seemingly incensed by the presence of the urine, began to take things to a new level. It looked as though Scott's pelvis would soon shatter and the look of pleasure than once lied peacefully on his face had changed to a wincing pain and horror that he was too proud to indulge. Should he remove Michelle from his piece he could suffer the same ostracism as "homo," which was a future he was not willing to contemplate. He remained. Immediately one could see Michelle sink closer to the desk and the crimson blood leak from Scott's anus. The vaginal force exerted on Scott's tender frame had caused his coccyx to puncture his rectum. Naturally Michelle became disinterested as the blood that maintained Scott's erection was now dripping on to the floor, dancing gently around the Newswatch 16 logo etched in glass over the conservative mahogany desk. And so she retrieved her clothes from the area around the desk and began to put herself together, leaving Scott wallowing in his pain and left the studio. Hopeful interns began to prompt her with opportunities for intercourse as she seductively yet sternly made her way to her 2004 Nissan Altima, her hips swung like a pendulum from left to right, undulating with a sensuality that could bring men to their knees. She refused each boy with a gentleness not seen in her previously and started her car with the entire crew watching her leave. Meanwhile Andrew skulked to his car, a rusted out 1990 Ford Fiesta and was showered in catapult-launched baggies of dog-shit sent care of an over-zealous Sam Smitz who wore a World War 2 era bomber jacket, aviator goggles and had a wet cigar clinched in his teeth. As he pulled away Andrew could see in his rearview mirror the maintenance crew catch Sam with a snare pole. Sam bobbed, weaved, and swung at his captors courageously but was brought down by a cattle prod to the back of his leg and hauled into the company-owned patty wagon which brought him to and from his cell; many miles from the station. While hypnotized by this affair Andrew failed to notice the car stopped in front of him and hit the bumper of the other automobile, causing virtually no damage to the other but badly denting his American-made compact car. Andrew saw the door open and prepared himself to be harangued but noticed a slender leg with black stockings preempt the succulent body of the object of his desires, Michelle Bannister. Her look, until she noticed Andrew was one that had hit her car, could turn a person to stone. However, once she noticed the unassuming man sitting behind the wheel of the automobile was none other than the quiet sports anchor from her workplace her grimace lightened and a smile crept to her face as she batted her eyes to the ground. She crept to the driver side and signaled for Andrew to wind down the window. With a large gulp he proceeded to rotate the handle and looked into Michelle's oceanic eyes. "Why did you do that?" Michelle whispered "I-I-uh-I'm sorry Michelle, I was looking back at Smitz getting hauled away i-it was pretty weird, he put up a good fight this time" "I don't care about any of that, How are you going to repay me?" "It ah, it doesn't look like there's anything wrong with your car." "I don't care if there is or not, this wasting my time, what are you going to do about it?" "I'm sorry" Andrew saw this as his chance to broach an interaction free of intercourse. So, mustering all of his courage, he asked Michelle to dinner. A glimmer of happiness shot to her eyes and she agreed, attempting to squelch the feelings that she was all too apparently having. She returned to the stone faced woman who got out of the car and slowly, seemingly milking it for every moment, waved her hips on her way back for Andrew to see, just clandestine enough for this presentation to be written off as an erection-influenced reading of the situation. As Andrew continued his drive home his mind's eye was fixated on the image of Michelle's hips wavering on her walk back to her car. The image stayed with him as he parallel parked on the decaying street in front of his efficiency apartment. It was with him while he stuffed handfuls of goldfish crackers into his mouth. It was with him as he pushed the skin on his stomach together in the shower for entertainment, it was with him when he went back to stuffing his face with goldfish and it danced in his mind as he wheezed himself to sleep. As Andrew entered the studio the next morning he could see the cleaning company removing Scott from his bindings on the desk and cleaning the now ruby flakes of his dried blood. He went to his computer to research the local high school sports scores and slipped into a stupor; as the monotony was wearing on him. He was jarred from his sleep when he heard Smitz say: "Though it was a dry night in the backyard it wasn't so dry in the studio. It's the time of year for golden showers and I was able to give one last night to our very own Scott Sandstone." Of course Smitz wasn't on air, he had lost that privilege long ago, but in order to keep him from pulling a blade on any member of the staff they kept him occupied with delivering the weather for hours on end and storing the tapes for rainy days when the news was depressing. The day passed eventless safe for Andrew hearing Michelle boisterously receive the seed of station manager Mitch Fortunado in the employee cafeteria. He was having doubts about the validity of the impending dinner. The validity of what he had seen in it- a chance at breaking Michelle from her compulsive love-making. Whether it would or not- Andrew resigned himself to the opinion that, at the very least, he would be going out to eat, which he truly enjoyed. As the day came to a close Andrew approached Michelle and asked if their date for dinner was still on. She replied: "I was thinking you could come to my place instead- I think that might be better, and I like to cook" This made it seem to Andrew as though he would be abused by Michelle and little of consequence would be born of the dinner. Andrew thought to himself that no matter what happened he could still refuse sex with her. There would be no requirement and the refusal would allow the possibility of future sex to be on his own terms without him being forced into anything. Andrew assented and chose to follow Michelle home. They passed Smitz in the hallway who looked up at them and began to fiercely, as though it was a threat, laugh at them with a vigor in his eyes and a wide open mouth with strings of saliva reaching from the tips of his top teeth to the bottom teeth. They were unnerved to say the least. Andrew's car sputtered to Michelle's home and the duo walked into her wonderfully maintained apartment, everything neatly arranged and in theme with the rest of the home. Michelle asked Andrew to sit, which he did and she began to rustle in the kitchen. Andrew could hear the sounds of cooking but after about fifteen minutes he decided that he would not wait any longer to tell Michelle about his feelings for her- the burden of watching her exploit herself was becoming too much and something needed to be said. He rose and paced a few times before walking into the kitchen and stammering to call Michelle's name. "Michelle, there's something I need to ask you? ...Why do you slut around the office so blatantly? I don't get it." "Umm... Why do you think?" "Well, I guessed you were a nympho, that's what everyone says." "Do you believe them?" "Well, I don't know. I have feelings for you, I like you as more than a coworker. I know I didn't show it at work, but I don't want to just get in and get out of you and your life. I want to be a part of it." Michelle's eyes began to well up and she said to him: "Andrew, I didn't know how else to make you notice me- maybe I went too far, and yeah, I really like to do it, but it wasn't because I wanted to have that army of guys in me, I wanted you to see it and get so hot and bothered that you wouldn't be able to resist me... I wanted you to..." And as Michelle tried to finish the statement Andrew grabbed and squeezed her so tight that she lost her breath. She pushed him away and looked into his eyes. Both sets of eyelids closed and the two began to kiss with pent-up desires that aged for years. The two swirled around the room, crashing into cupboards and dislodging the pans that hung from the ceiling. Their amalgamation crept to the living room and crashed onto the couch. Paula, on top of Andrew, kissed her way and unbuttoned down his chest, finally ripping it apart with some buttons still fastened at the bottom. She straddled him and rubbed his package with more force than was welcome, but with this new light shed on his and Michelle's relationship he was open to anything. She unbuttoned his khaki Dockers and watched as the force of his incarcerated stomach pushed apart the zipper. She pulled the pants and Andrew's underwear down to reveal the robust penis awaiting her. She began to climb up his body, allowing the tip of his rod to touch the place he so wanted it to be, blocked only by a thin layer of fabric. She pushed down on it, Andrew could see the wash of pleasure come over her as he reached around her to pull her down harder on it. She breathed deeply, as if she was desperately trying to catch her breath and looked Andrew in the eyes as she pulled her shirt up over her head and unbuttoned her pants. Andrew reached up to undo the zipper and Michelle rose to allow him to slide her pants off. Andrew had never imagined fate would twist in such a way that would allow him such intimacy with this woman for whom he cared more than his own shower chair. She began to chafe her still panty-clad groin against his pole, which was growing harder by the moment. He reached up and inserted his hands underneath her bra to reveal her glorious breasts which seemed to be filled with pudding, his absolute favorite meal. At this point the anticipation was too much and Michelle removed her underwear and maneuvered her body to bring the tip of Andrew's thang to the gorge between the legs had hoped so often to part. She slowly brought the force of her body down on to his shaft and a look of extreme pleasure and presentness appeared on Michelle's face, one he had never seen before despite the countless times he had seen her violated by the area's best news team. Michelle rode Andrew for what seemed like hours. He never blinked. The experience was so completing for Andrew that he felt he could not spare even the fraction of a second it would take to moisten his eyeballs. It was because of Andrew's presence of mind that he was able to observe Smitz creep up behind Michelle in a rainbow clown wig and chef outfit. He grabbed Michelle and with seeming superhuman force, pulled her from Andrew's staff, and attacked her. Andrew rose to defend her but was stifled the first time by his own girth and was forced to sit back down, take a deep breath and try again. The second attempt was as big a failure as the first and he watched Smitz sting Michelle with a series of rubber bands. He tried a third time with all his might and was able to rise. Unfortunately he could not control his upward momentum and immediately fell over, the quake generated was enough to make Smitz lose his balance and fall to the ground. Andrew reached quickly and laid the hock of an arm he had on Smitz's face. After several minutes to struggle Smitz stopped moving and Andrew rolled over in exhaustion. Paula rose with small welts on her and straddled Andrew once again. Though she knew the blood required for the amount of action had robbed his penis dry she didn't care, she laid with him, wiping the sweat from his brow and slept under the weight of his arms.