2 comments/ 36460 views/ 3 favorites The Cloud By: Ronnie Wachuka My thanks to my soul mate, warmhoney1, for her efforts and patience. -------------------------------------------------- Before I begin this 'how to,' I have to give you some background. Awhile back I wrote a story titled, "The Barmaid." It isn't a story in the sense of being a fictional piece. It is a true story of the beginning of a young sailor's journey through life. If you would like to read about my education at Jean's hands, I suggest you read, "The Barmaid." I think it was a pretty good early effort. In the story I omitted several things that occurred during my relationship with Jean, the barmaid in question. More about that later. To roughly paraphrase the words of the Statler Brothers in their song, Bed of Roses, "she taught me all that a man should know." Being the wise teacher that she was, Jean taught me much. The first and most important to me, was the way this mature thirty-four year old women took a young, inexperienced eighteen year old sailor in tow, and taught me by word and deed how to please her. She was my mentor in the ways of love and to her I will always be indebted. One of her first lessons was the one thing that is a constant thorn in a lot of the stories in Literotica: Communication! Communication is the most important part of a relationship, and failure to communicate can cause a lot of problems, as a slew of authors have pointed out in story after story in this site. In the act of love, and being loved, communication is all important. Communication can be by word, touch, reaction to your partners ministrations, or her to yours. It was many years before I understood that what she told me and showed me was in fact, communicating with your partner. My lessons in communication began the evening Jean brought me home. She told me and showed me that first night what pleased her, and when I responded properly, my reward was two-fold; watching her reactions to my efforts, and later, her returning the favor after I'd pleasured her. My lessons continued the next morning. We were laying in bed and when I woke very early to discover myself with a piss hard-on, in bed with a nude woman, and not in my rack on the ship. The first thought that came to my mind was, simply: "Yahoo! I'm in the land of milk and honey. Go for it." I proceeded to put action to thought, and I learned my next lessons in communication, as Jean sleepily informed me: "Not now sailor, I'm tired." See, communication does work, but not always in pleasing ways. Several hours later, I learned the next lesson, as Jean reached out, grabbed my peter, and informed me in a soft sultry voice: "Come to mama, sailor, I'm horny." I definitely liked this form of communication better. Being a horny young sailor, I climbed aboard to have my way with her, and learned some more, when she informed me: "Sailor, when this is wet, you get some, and not until." Taking my finger she stuck it in between her pussy lips to let me know it was dry and she wasn't ready yet. Being your average teenage male idiot I figured that wouldn't be a problem; grab a kiss, swap a little slobber, run a fathom of tongue in her ear, squeeze her tit and play with a nipple for a second or two, with just a bit of stink finger thrown in, and I was home free. - Looking at the last paragraph, I find myself blushing in shame at my continued ignorance and stupidity - When I got to the stink finger part, I was mystified to find she was still dry. Oh well, back to the drawing board. We went back to kissing, smooching, and stroking. That was when I got a refresher course on her earlier lessons (I'd evidently forgotten love-making 101 from the night before); as I stroked her body, I could hear her breathing change and an occasional moan slip through her lips. When I put my finger between her pussy lips, she was still not very wet. Damn! It was beginning to look like I had my work cut out for me. It took twenty minutes or more before her pussy was wet enough for me to put two fingers completely inside her. It was at this point that she said, "Climb aboard sailor and fuck me." Ain't communication wonderful? My ship was in the shipyard in Portsmouth, Virginia for a three month overhaul, so other then on duty nights, I was at Jeans' every night. Three months of her tutelage didn't make me the worlds greatest lover, nor did I go through life using her lessons to be a modern Casanova, but I learned much that helped me to be more patient, loving, and considerate with the one I was with. One of the great lessons I learned from Jean was what she variously called, "The Cloud," "The Cloud of Delight," and "Heaven's Cloud." We'd been shacking up for three weeks. I remember that because I had the whole weekend off, and that only happened every three weeks. It was a lazy Saturday afternoon, the radio was tuned to the local shit-kickin' station, and the room was filled with Hank Locklin, Jimmy Rodgers, Jim Reeves, and a host of other C&W artists singing their hits. Jean was laying next to me in bed with her head on my chest, her leg thrown across mine, and her short soft fingers softly stroking the back of my hand. It was between paydays again so Jean had the night off. We'd been talking about where we wanted to eat before taking in a movie. In the meantime she'd turned my hand over and began to softly stroke my wrist and palm. I wasn't even aware of it happening, but suddenly I found myself getting very interested in attacking Jean's body and making mad passionate love as I felt my peter suddenly beginning to rise to attention. What the fuck was she doing to me and how had she gotten me so horny so fast? Jean's stroking of my wrist and palm was so light I couldn't tell whether she was actually touching me or not, but it was sure having an effect on my thinking. As I turned over to gather her to me she giggled and began to stroke the back of my neck with one hand and the hollow of my back just above my butt cheeks with the other, using that same soft super-light stroke. That coupled with her lips softly closing around my lower lip and gently sucking on it had me in a very horny, rock hard condition, and ready for some lovin' in record time. That's saying something for a male teenager who's constantly horny and thinking about sex. I tried to put into effect everything Jean had taught me these past several weeks, but all I wanted to do was get her penis (she claimed she owned it and I would only be allowed to carry it around and pee with it) inside my pussy (If she could claim my peter I would claim her pussy in self defense) and we'd have a rollickin' good time. We spent the next many moments in glorious screwing. Not the hard, almost uncontrollable sex that usually happens after a week or two at sea, but just pleasurable, feel-good fucking, that really puts you in a great frame of mind when it is over and you both cum together. It almost didn't happen as I was so aroused that I was hard put (pun intended), to keep going until Jean could cum with me. I must have done well enough, for my own climax triggered hers, and we both collapsed; weak, weary, and worn out. As we lay with her head on my chest, I stroked her body, both of us coming down to earth in our post-orgasmic glow. Softly, I asked her, "what the hell did you do that got me so hot so fast?" She giggled and replied by taking my hand and stroking it with that supersensitive and impossibly light caress she'd use to start our latest round of love making. She quietly asked me if I could tell the difference between the caresses I was using on her and what she was doing to me? "Yours are so much lighter I can't really tell if you are actually touching me or if it's my imagination." "It's called the cloud because it's such a soft, light touch. Stroke me as lightly as you can using only your finger tips." As I tried, she kept whispering, "lighter . . . lighter still." As I tried to imitate her technique she began to softly hum in contentment, but I still wasn't able to make my stroke as soft as hers. At least it was having some effect, so I was learning. Over the next several days Jean really worked to teach me how to make my caresses as nebulous as a cloud (hence its name) softly passing across her skin. When it's done correctly neither partner can really tell if there is skin contact or not, but you feel something almost electric pass between you. I can't explain why it happens like that, but it does, and it's effect is devastating. You can even learn to do it with your lips, but that really takes patience and practice. All of this practicing and learning was great because it almost always ended in some really great sex. There were other things I learned about the cloud: You have to really know your partners erogenous zones because that is where the technique works best. It works on women and men as well, but its effect seems more pronounced on the females. Women inherently seem to be able to do it much better then the menfolk and with less practice required of them. Men require a lot of practice to perform it well, but the advantage is theirs when they learn to do it because it appears to have a greater effect on the ladies. You can use not only your finger tips but the face of your nails. If you do use your nails you won't feel a thing, but trust me, your partner will. You can use both hands in different places on her body and double yours and her pleasure. You can also do it with all of your fingers and your thumb moving around on her body. When you learn how, you will strike pay dirt; guaranteed. It is an outstanding way to initiate love making, but it loses its effect when the going gets hot and heavy It is also wonderful for post-coital cooing and caressing, because it makes an enjoyable experience even greater, and stretches out the after glow and makes it more pleasurable. Several questions may well come up at this point: How do I practice if I don't have a partner readily available? Easily answered; practice on yourself. Now you can't try this on all parts of your body, but a good place to start is on your wrists, the palms of your hand, and your finger tips. The same places Jean made me begin my learning experience. By doing it to yourself you can truly feel whether you're learning the proper technique or not. Trying it out on other parts of your body that you can reach will teach you much about what excites you. It will also hopefully provide you with clues as to what will excite your partner; what pleases you will generally please her. A caveat, sailor. It's recommended that you do not do this in the berthing space, mess deck, nor the the head or shower. It may draw some unfavorable comments from your shipmates, and draw some incorrect impressions by the Chief Master at Arms (variously known as, The Sheriff, Deputy Dawg, and Dudley Do-Right) when he hears about it, as he surely will. I also recommend that you DO NOT try this with one of your shipmates as it will almost guarantee that you will be asked to answer some rather strange questions by the CMAA. To those of you who read the descriptive title and felt themselves to have been misled: GOTCHA! The end All comments are gratefully accepted Ronnie Wachuka Sign me a Horny 'ol Sailor 30- The Clouded Cloth Father Myers was our favorite priest. He was about six foot two, one hundred and ninety five pounds. At the age of forty-five, he still had a full head of silver hair. It seemed that he had the answer for every question a young boy of twelve could have. But let there be no doubt, his most important feature was his ears. Yep, you heard me right, his ears. See, he listened, really listened to what my friends and I had to say. Life in Boston was centered around neighborhoods, and life in our neighborhoods was centered around the church. During the summer when school was out, we spent most of our day at the youth center, shooting pool, shooting baskets, and shooting the bull. Our parents thought it was safer than playing stickball in the streets. The Catholic youth center provided us with a way to spend our summer under the watchful eyes of the church. One beautiful July afternoon, after a hard fought baseball game, Father Myers took a dozen of us out to get some ice cream. We went to the tasty freeze, and he bought each one of us an ice cream cone. I liked the ones that were dipped in chocolate, so he got me one of those. It amazed me that the Father could afford to buy all of us a cone. In my household, both of my parents worked, but we only got ice cream on special occasions. After the cone we went back to the center to hang out until our parents came to pick us up. When we arrived, a priest came up to Father Myers and gave him a note. He looked at me and motioned for me to come over where he was standing. “Kenny,” he said “your parents won’t be able to pick you up for a while, they had to drive up to Worcester to see your Aunt Judy.” “Ok, I can go home, I know where the spare key is hidden.” My Mom always kept a spare key under a loose brick in the planter next to the front door. “No, your parents want you to stay here, we can have dinner in the rectory, and they will pick you up over there.” The rectory was just across the street from the youth center. It looked just like an apartment building. In fact, it was a dormitory for the priests in the diocese. We went over and Father Myers showed me around. I saw the small chapel, the recreation room, and finally his little room on the second floor. The room was about the same size as mine at home. He had Celtics and Red Sox memorabilia and posters arrayed around the room, which was furnished with a single bed, a small couch and chest of drawers. “Where is the bathroom?” I asked. “Down the hall, each floor has two that we all share.” The room looked like my brother’s room at the Air Force base. About six o’clock we went down for dinner. The dinning room was very large, with four long wooden tables in the sparse looking room. When the prayer and ceremony were done, the food was brought out by nuns. The meal seemed very stiff and formal. It was almost as if the priests were not allowed to talk at the table. After the bland, silent meal, we headed up to the recreation room. While I was playing ping-pong with a young, overweight priest, Father Myers attempted to telephone my parents “Kenny, there is no answer at your house. I will try again later.” Next we went back across the street to the Sanctuary, where the Priests had a prayer service. Afterwards they had a short meeting about the next day’s activities, and then most headed back to the rectory. I walked over to the youth center with Father Myers so he could lock everything up and cut out the lights. The janitor and Father Myers exchanged greetings, and the janitor walked out towards the parking lot. The basketball court was empty, and our squeaky footsteps echoed as we walked across the court. Father Myers turned to me and said, “Kenny, you and I are friends, right?” The question kind of floored me; I had never had an adult ask me if I was his friend. Heck, I never had an adult treat me as if I was anything but a kid. “Sure Father.” I stammered. “I want to show you something you have not seen before. Can you keep a secret?” He said with a grin. “Of course I can father!” I said excitedly. We walked to the end of the gym and walked down the stairs to the boiler room. I had been there once before. On the other side of the boiler room was a locked door. Father Myers pulled out a key and placed it into the lock. “Are you sure you can keep a secret?” he asked again. “Yes Sir, cross my heart and hope to die!” I piped. He turned the key and pushed the door open into the darkness. At the flip of a switch, the lights slowly flickered on, one at a time. The smell of the moldy old canvas hit me like a hammer in the face. Centered in the large room in front of me was a boxing ring. It was old and dusty, but it was a boxing ring. There was a heavy bag in one corner, and a speed bag in another. I jumped up into the ring, bounded of the ropes and threw a couple of punches at an invisible opponent. “When I was your age, this is where I spent most of my time.” Father Myers said with a wistful sigh. “Why don’t we use it?” I asked. “Come on down,” he gestured with his large hands. “There were a few injuries, and the church fathers decided to close the ring, that’s it.” He looked downcast as he spoke those words, almost like that ring meant everything to him. “Do you promise not to tell anyone I showed you this room?” “Sure Father, but why? This room is great! We should be able to use it all of the time.” “I know it doesn’t make any sense to you now, but please promise not to tell anyone.” I knew I could keep a secret. “Ok, I promise.” We turned off the lights and locked the door. Father Myers put his arm around my shoulders and we walked back towards the rectory. That was so cool. He liked me enough to show me something that no one else got to see. What a great friend! Back in the recreation room, Father Myers tried to contact my parents again, but they still were not home. We went back to his room and looked through some old pictures of him as a golden gloves fighter. He showed me his baseball card collection, including an old glove signed by Ted Williams at a baseball camp years ago. We laughed and joked and generally had a good time. After another fruitless attempt to contact my house, and it was time for bed. It was decided that I could sleep on his couch, and could wear one of his old t-shirts to bed. He collected his shaving kit, clean underwear, and a couple of towels, and we were off to the showers. The bathroom was quite large. There were four sinks, with four urinals, and four toilet stalls. The floors were covered with tile that was very cold against my bare feet. At the back of the bathroom was an alcove that led into the shower area. It was open and had four showerheads spraying out from a central water source. While Father Myers shaved I went to the toilet. I could hear him humming a tune while he shaved. Then I grabbed a towel and went into the shower alcove. I removed my clothes and went into the shower room. It was cold and very dark, illuminated by a solitary bulb in a waterproof enclosure. The water was cold, and I felt goose bumps cover my young hairless body. “Is the water hot yet?” Father Myers asked as he stepped into the shower room. I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. His body was so much different from mine. Just then the water began to get hot and I began to shower, hoping he hadn’t seen me looking at him. As I soaped up my body, I felt him come over towards me. He reached around me and gave me a big hug. The wiry hair of his chest pressed against my upper back, sending a chill up my spine. “Thank you for being my special friend Kenny, I know I can trust you.” I felt like a giant was squeezing my chest, I couldn’t seem to catch my breath. I couldn’t say anything, it was like I was frozen in place. “You know special friends can do things together don’t you?” He whispered in my ear. He twisted me around by the shoulders so that we were facing each other. “Will you give me a special kiss Kenny? Please kiss it?” He moaned as if in pain. His hands on my shoulders pressed me down onto my knees. It felt weird, the floor was cold, but the hot water was pouring down on my head like a spring shower. Just then we heard the squeaking of the bathroom door opening. Father Myers instantly turned to face away from the entrance to the shower. He turned off the hot water with a flick of his wrist, and icy water rained down on his body. “Is that you Nick?” called someone from the alcove. “Yeah, I’m in here.” answered Father Myers. “Ok, the kids parents called from Worcester, they won’t be able to make it home tonight. They are wondering if the kid can stay here tonight?” “Ok, thanks, Kenny is going to stay in my room on the couch.” “Ok Nick, will talk to you later.” The door squeaked again as the source of the voice left the bathroom. I took this opportunity to run out into the alcove and grab the towel, Father Myers was right behind me. I knew what had happened in the shower was wrong. I was scared and amazed at the same time. I felt much better now that we were out of the shower. I wondered to myself, did this mean the Father was a homo? Did it mean I was a homo? I knew that Priests didn’t marry, but did not understand exactly why. We walked down the hallway in silence. When we got to the room we both put on our underwear. I slipped on one of his old t-shirts, and he slipped on a nightshirt. He cut the small TV on, and the evening news show was on. We watched in silence for a couple of minutes, as the weatherman tried to make jokes about the sorry weather we had been having lately. Father Myers walked over to his bed and kneeled down beside it. “Kenny, you want to see something neat?” he asked with a twinkle in his eye. “Sure.” I said, seemingly having already forgotten what happened in the shower. He pulled a cardboard box out from under the bed. It was full of skin magazines. There was Playboy, Penthouse, Hustler and many more. “You can go ahead and look if you like. You don’t tell anybody, and I won’t tell anybody.” He said with a devilish grin. For the next hour we looked through the magazines. Father Myers lay on his bed while I sat on the floor, Indian style and leafed through the magazines. At eleven o’clock Father Myers placed his magazines into the box, and looked down at me. “I won’t tell anyone you looked at these magazines. It will be our special secret. I know I can trust you to be my special friend. These are our secrets, ok?” “Well,” he said with a yawn. “It’s time to turn in, tomorrow will be here any minute.” I placed the magazine I was looking at back in the box, and he shoved it back under his bed. I went and lay down on the couch he had made up for a bed. Father Myers came over and placed a sheet over me, and reached over and flicked off the light. I lay there in the darkness listening to Father Myers deep breaths. The images of the beautiful girls, posing wickedly, danced through my head. I remembered the feeling of Father Myers body pressed against mine in the shower. I thought of the times my friend Bobby and I had looked at his dad’s porn magazines, and went into the bathroom and beat off together. At least we had not touched each other. I felt the sheet go back and vaguely made out Father Myers form standing over me. He kneeled down on the floor and took me into his mouth. I could feel his whiskers rubbing against my skin. I was frozen with fear, but I could not move. Strangely, my erection did not go down, not even a little. I tried to think about the girls in the magazines. My heartbeats were so loud and fast I thought I was going to have a heart attack. It was over in seconds. “You see what a special friend I am?” he whispered in the dark. I wanted to disappear from the earth. At that moment, I prayed for death. I was scared, embarrassed, and confused. “Aren’t you going to return the favor Kenny? After all we are special friends.” It hurts me to think about what happened next. I don’t know if I did it out of fear, or because I was curious. I returned the favor. He rolled away from me with his eyes closed. “Oh god…. Thank you so much Kenny,” he whispered as if he was in pain. “You don’t know how much I needed that. Thank you for being my special friend.” He took my head in his hands and tried to kiss my lips, I shook my head and turned away. I lay wide-awake on the couch for a long time. I felt vile and disgusted. My belly was doing flip-flops, causing me to gag from time to time. I got up and went to the bathroom, and wretched into the toilet for several minutes. Since I didn’t have a toothbrush, I lathered up a bar of soap and scrubbed my teeth with my fingers as best I could. I finally nodded off to sleep sitting on the toilet. The next morning when Father Myers woke me up he was completely dressed in his priestly gown. “Kenny, before we go to breakfast we have to talk. I really appreciate what you did for me. You know we must never tell anyone what happened. They just won’t understand what we mean to each other.” I hope I will never feel again, the way I felt that morning. Dirty, filthy are two words that come to mind. How would my family and friends think about me if they knew what I had done. Nobody would ever believe me against the word of a priest. A member of the community in good standing, Father Myers was well thought of by everyone in South Boston. I could not believe that I was so worthless as to let this happen. My dad would disown me, no question about that. The guys at the youth center would shun me after laughing their heads off. The car was silent as my father drove me home. The tension was thick, as if we both had something to say, but neither of us could bear to say it. Finally, after clearing his throat several times my dad was able to say something. “Son, your Aunt Judy is in bad shape. She is in the hospital up in Worcester, and it doesn’t look good for her. Your mother is still up there with her.” The silence was deafening. “It looks like she is not going to make it. I have to go back up there and pick mom up on Saturday. Father Myers said it would be fine if you spent the weekend at the rectory.” You can’t believe how I felt after he spoke those words. My own father was about to deliver me back into the clutches of that perverted priest. “Dad, I would like to go with you.” I said with a trembling voice. “Aw son, that’s nice, but you don’t need to. You would be bored to death. “Please dad, let me go with you. I really want to.” My father seemed perplexed with the passion on my plea. Normally, I would jump at the opportunity to go sleep over at the rectory. “Well I guess you could sleep on a pallet in the living room. Ok, you can go. Maybe we will leave a little early and try our hand at the little stream along the way. “Cool, thanks dad.” I breathed a little easier, besides, I loved fishing with my dad. Twenty-five years later… I got home from work, kissed my wife Ruth, changed clothes, and got a cold beer. The day at the shipyard had been a rough one. We were quickly approaching the deadline on the “Newport” project, and if it weren’t completed on time, heads were gonna roll. I flopped down in my worn out recliner and flipped the TV on with the remote. “We are going to have some beef stew for dinner. It will be ready in about an hour, so don’t snack or it will ruin your appetite.” Ruth called from the kitchen. “Ok, babe” I answered. Eyewitness news had just started. I turned up the volume a bit. “The Boston Archdiocese announced today that it was suspending Father Nicholas Myers, age 75, from all ecclesiastical activities. Father Myers has been accused by several men in the Boston area of sexually abusing them between the years of 1975 to 1992. Father Myers just celebrated his fiftieth year in the priesthood, and spent many years as the director of the South Boston Catholic Youth Center.” The news made all of the memories come flooding back into my mind. Only one person other than the father and I knew about that terrible night in the rectory. Ruth has helped me get it out of my system. All of the worry, fear, and self-incrimination were gone. I no longer had to doubt my sexuality, or my masculinity. Now, the world knew what my wife and I had known that for all these many years, Father Myers was an evil man. For years and years I fought self-pity, and self-doubt, now I just pity his other victims. Hell must have a special fire for people like Father Myers. The Clouds Break Humbled mountain lay silent in the morning mist, kneeling before her, their backs were scarred with the angry lashes of strip mining. The ding of the coffeemaker broke the quiet. And a slow sip warmed her like the cold landscape could not. She took comfort in it on this bleak dawn. The boxes before her, still more to be done. The house was imploding, methodically, and so, she felt, the last remaining memories of those who had lived here. She hadn't wanted to return -- especially not like this. She'd been 19 when she practically fled to New York, swearing not to come back. She never would again. The dwindling value of sentiment she felt toward this place was cruelly outweighed by the cost of keeping it. An empty home would not make her lonely life any fuller. Especially not at the price they were offering. The mine wanted this land, badly, and presented her with more cash than she had a right to. But now that her mother was gone, she was it. She couldn't shake the urge to run away from the responsibility, just as she'd run away from here so many years ago. It had been raining for hours when she finally finished the living room. A nap beckoned, and then the door. She rose and gently pulled it open, "Hello?" Her property was back from the road, hidden in the hollow; it was a solace that both waried and emboldened her. He filled the door frame, shining in a cheap rain poncho, "Sorry to bother you," he said, slightly breathless, his eyes (she was ashamed to notice) perhaps the only green on this gray day. "I meant to come up earlier. I hope I'm not intruding?" he seemed to revoke that question as he looked past her into the empty room. "My Jeep got stuck in the flat, so I had to make a run for it." "Well," it seemed she had no other option, "Come in." Leaving his galoshes outside, he closed the door behind him and the sounds of rain disappeared. "I'm sorry," she said, "why did you say you were coming here?" She knew she should feel uncomfortable being alone here with him this far back in the woods, but his presence felt strangely familiar. "Sorry," he pulled the poncho over his head, deliciously slowly, "I had heard that Mrs. Calhoun passed away. She was a friend of mine, and I wanted to pay my respects." "You knew my moth -- Mrs. Calhoun?" "Of course, she was the rock in our group. Such an incredible woman. And you are her daughter, I assume? She spoke of you often," he was shifting, his piercing eyes settled on the floor, "I'm truly sorry for your loss." "It's OK, we had grown apart," she realized how cold that sounded, and elaborated, "She was a fine mother. We had our differences is all. What group did you say?" "I didn't say. Mountain Rescue." "Like an ambulance crew?" "No, not quite so benevolent... well, depending on your views. We're a group of local biologists, in your mother's case, former biologists, and activists too. We're trying to protect the southern Appalachians from mountaintop removal," he had set his poncho on the chair and went on, "I'm assuming you aren't from around here, but even you can see the destruction it's causing on our forests and mountains. It's been a losing battle." She imagined her 72 year-old mother, strapped to a tree in protest, somehow it didn't surprise her. He used her silence as a cue to continue, "Your mother lived here her whole life. She remembered fishing in the White River. It's crazy, I won't even go near there today, the runoff from the mines has ruined it." He strode to the window and looked out at the east valley, "Her views here must have been so grand, before," there was such a sadness in his voice; it stirred her like the photographs and pieces of her past never could. "They were," she replied, breaking her silence and meeting his eyes when he turned. "Then may I ask what you are doing with this place?" She sank into the threadbare couch behind her. "I haven't been here in ages," she sighed, "It's hard, I," her throat tightened, "I thought I would never come here again." Her emotion thickened the air between them. When a tear appeared on her cheek, he felt compelled to her side, "I'm sorry," he said, his hand reaching to her shoulder, "I shouldn't have asked. It's none of my business. It's your place now." "I hadn't," she turned to face him, "expected it to affect me like this." His hand slipped down her back and their eyes met, his emotionless, hers glossy with tears. "Come with me," he said suddenly. Pulling her from the couch, they pushed through the door out into the rain. It was coming down harder now, and he pulled her urgently along the hillside, darting through the hard wood forest that edged the property. His strong embrace guided her, a warm compass in the wet. "Maybe you don't remember," he said, as the trees broke: the western valley, before them, in striking contrast to the eastern out of her window. Thickly robed in blue and purple, the mountains moved majestic against the bone white sky. "Your property was an important part of our efforts. They take this land, and Blue Valley is next," he gestured toward it, and she stood speechless still, "It doesn't stop, you can see that." When he looked back at her, the tears and rain had mixed, her eyes rose to his -- sharp, confident, but asking. A beat passed, one heartbeat, and then he closed the distance between them and pulled her against him. She knew, finally, what she wanted. With her face in his hands, he kissed her. Deep, strong, a kiss made of the mountains themselves. They rushed back to the house. There was no more need for conversation. So much had been said in the silence. He pulled off her wet clothes first, then his, standing in her underwear, she felt him appraise her body. Damp and glowing from the sprint down the slope, she was radiant. Her scooped her into his arms and stretched her across the couch. "I must have you," he said, and held her down as he kissed her harder, along her neck, down her chest and stomach, tiny sweet kissed along the inside of her legs. He slid her panties down and kissed her soft, bare vagina, parting the pink with his tongue. She melted, breaking her silence with a moan. "Take me," she pleaded, "please." He rubbed her clit gently before entering her with his fingers, circling her insides and sending waves of pleasure through her body. "I want you, now," she felt down to his boxers, and watched as he pulled them off, his thick shaft already hard with anticipation. "Take me with it," she moaned, sliding her fingers along the length. "Not yet," he straddled her face and forced his cock down her throat. She rounded her lips around the head and attempted to inhale his cock. Moving methodically from his dicks to his balls, she massaged them with her tongue while she stroked his shaft. He shuddered, "Good girl," he said, "Now get on top of me." She climbed up on him, she was slick and tight and he filled her fully, but there bodies fit together as if they were made at once. She moaned with satisfaction as he thrust into her, his cock filing her with each motion, "Make me cum," she pleaded. He pumped harder and she bounced into him, the façade of tenderness abandoned in passion. He could feel her pussy gripping his long shaft and he knew she was getting close, "I'm going to finish you from behind," he said in her ear, and flipped her up so her ass was swaying in front of him tantalizingly. He gripped her hips and slid between her ass cheeks, taking one thumb and rubbing it around her red hole. His thrusts were longer now, and she felt his cock run along her belly, the orgasm building each time. Like the sun burning up the rain outside, she felt it coming on, the heat grower until it took over. Waves of pleasure broke free and she came like never before, rocking so hard against his dick that it sent him over the edge too. His semen pushed into her, sending her climax into another realm. When she finally came back down to earth, she collapsed, completely spent. The nap she'd wanted started to take over her consciousness. He fell next to her and they panted in silence until their breathing slowed into sleep. It was nearly an hour before they roused again, tangled in each other, tightly fitting as one on the couch. Her mind had cleared, and when she looked outside, the sun was shining. The Clown After fighting the traffic in the pouring rain, Robin tossed her purse down on her couch, quickly pulled off her wet clothes and then headed over to the refrigerator wearing only her panties. The curtains weren't fully closed, but with the pouring rain outside she figured no one would be peeking inside. Too tired to spend any time cooking, she planned to grab a microwave dinner and quickly zap it, before curling up in front of the television. Unfortunately, just as she grabbed for the freezer door, the lights flickered and then went out completely. "Just great," she complained walking back through the living room and into her bedroom. Groping through her drawers she pulled out a flashlight and set it on her nightstand just in case the lights didn't come on soon. In spite of the storm there was still enough light from outside so she could find her way around for now, but in an hour or so she'd definitely need the flashlight. After about thirty minutes, Robin figured the lights would be out for a while and since she was getting hungry she thought she'd try to pick something up to eat. It was still pouring rain, but if she went to a drive through it shouldn't be too bad. She pulled on a tee shirt and some shorts and headed for the door. Slipping on a beat up pair of tennis shoes, she locked the door and dashed out to her car, getting soaked again in the process. The storm was apparently worse than she thought because the lights seemed to be out all over. She passed restaurant after restaurant, all dark and closed up. After fighting though heavy traffic for several blocks, she was ready to give up when she spotted a Hastie Burger Bar that appeared to have some electricity. The outside sign was out, but she could see some light coming from inside the restaurant and in that light she could see some people milling about. As she pulled in the parking lot, she could see that the drive through lane was clearly not open because a number of empty cars blocked the lane. She guessed the people, wanting to park as close to the building as possible, simply pulled up into the lane and then jumped out. Figuring it was a good idea, she pulled up and quickly jumped out and dashed for the door, getting soaked even more in the process. Once inside she immediately saw that the restaurant wasn't serving food. There must have been some promotion running, but as she stepped through the door she faced none other than Alfie, the Hastie Burger Bar Clown along with several other men simply milling about. The light she had seen was from several overhead emergency lights, apparently running on a battery and some high powered lights two men were holding. Figuring they must have been videotaping something, the looked up and said, "Oh, I'm sorry. I thought maybe you were open." All of the men smiled to her and one stepped forward, "We're not open, but it's okay. You're welcome to stay here until the electricity comes back on or at least till the rain lets up." "Well, thank you," she said, a bit overwhelmed by the boisterous welcome she received. Looking over at Alfie she felt a strange tingling of excitement roll though her, a feeling similar to when she was a child. She remembered the joy she felt riding in the car with her parents to Hastie's, the fun she had as they waited in line wondering what toy she'd get in her Hastie meal and the wonderful taste of the French fries she ate as she played with her toy. Later, when she was in high school she often dreamed of being locked in a restaurant with Alfie. All these memories flashed through her mind as she looked at the clown's face. When her gaze lowered and slowly traveled down his colorful costume, she felt another tingling surge of excitement. A bit flustered, she murmured something about "...drying off," and headed down the corridor to the bathroom. She could see under the door that there was some light coming from the bathroom, so there must have been an emergency light in there. The men shined their lights down the corridor and walking carefully so not to slip and fall, she wondered why she had received such an enthusiastic greeting. Once she opened the door and stepped up to the sink she immediately knew why the men were so gracious. Looking into the mirror she saw that her tee shirt was so wet that she might as well not worn it. Even in the dim light, she could see her nipples protruding out from the wet shirt, the material conforming to the texture of her skin in intimate detail. Looking down she also could see how her shorts had hiked up, pretty much leaving nothing to the imagination there either. She reached down and adjusted her shorts some but realized she couldn't do much with her tee shirt unless she planned to wait for it to dry. After trying her best to arrange herself a bit more modestly, she turned to head back out into the restaurant when Alfie pushed his way into the door. Startled at what appeared to be happening, she gasped and slowly backed away when the clown said, "Hey, hey, it's okay. Look come here, I'll show you." The clown caught her hand and held it up to his chest, and suddenly her hand felt the gently curve of a woman's breast. "You're a..." The clown nodded, "Yes, I have been for as long as I remember." "But Alfie..." "Well, the Alfie I replaced was a woman, and I've been Alfie for maybe ten years." "All those years and you're a woman. I used to be in love with you," Robin replied. "You can still be in love with Alfie, hell the men out there just treat me like a guy." "What do you mean?" "Well they were really going on about you, I mean with the wet clothes and all. You would have thought I was a guy." "It must be hard putting up with that." "Yeah, sometimes it is. Hey look, if you want you can wait in here, let your clothes dry out some more. It doesn't look like the rain is going to stop. The guys really do have some work they can do using the flashlights and the emergency lights in the serving area." "Okay. If we only had some electricity I could use the hand dryers to dry off my clothes." "If you want you can just wring them out that may help some." Sensing that Alfie was a bit too helpful Robin tilted her head and asked, "Alfie, when the men talked about me did they talk about seeing right through my blouse?" "Yeah, one of them commented on how cold you must have been." "And did the men like what they saw?" "Oh yeah, they liked it a lot." "And Alfie, did you like what you saw?" Silence... Alfie got a strange look on her face and then tried to answer several times but stopped herself. Finally she leaned back against the wall and said, "I loved what I saw." Looking directly into Alfie's eyes Robin asked, "And I'm just going to take off my blouse and ring it out, perhaps hang it over the partition there?" "If you want to, if you want I can leave." Robin pulled off her blouse and then looked back at Alfie. Alfie's eyes lowered for a moment then snapped back to look into Robin's eyes. "My shorts and panties are soaking wet too, they probably need wringing out." "They probably need wringing out," Alfie replied. "My fingers are a bit numb from the chill, will you take them off of me?" Robin asked, letting an old fantasy rewrite itself. So now, instead of Alfie's strong masculine hands undressing her, Robin felt Alfie's softer feminine hands undressing her. She watched as Alfie slowly tucked her fingers inside the elastic waistband and slowly pulled Robin's shorts and panties down to her ankles. The clown then hung the garments over the partition next to Robin's blouse as Robin stood shivering. "You're so cold," Alfie said, wrapping her arms around Robin. The clown was tall and even rising up on her tiptoes as she embraced the large woman she felt her face press against her breasts. They were much firmer than Robin expected. "Oh, my breasts, I have to wrap them tightly to keep my real identity from poking out too far." The clown's dry and warm clothes warmed Robin up enough to stop shivering and when she ran her hands sensuously over the woman's ass, she felt herself lifted up into the air. The woman gently set her down so she was sitting on the countertop at the sink and then moved her hands to Robin's knees. Robin turned her head up and met the woman in a kiss, opening her mouth as the woman's tongue slipped inside. As they kissed, Robin opened her legs, feeling Alfie's smooth hands slide up her thighs. Moving her hands down beside her, Robin lifted her ass up and scooted forward, giving the woman easier access to her pussy. Alfie kissed Robin all over the face and then kissed down her neck and moved to her breasts. She kissed over the soft mounds and then moved to a nipple, sucking it into her mouth. Feeling a tingling sensation shoot down her body, Robin moaned and then gasped as Alfie quickly kissed down her belly, tickling her some. Before she knew it Robin felt the woman's tongue slither though the soft curls of her pubic hair and run down her slit. She could feel the hot moist breath from the woman's nose as she felt her tongue burrow into her pussy, first just slightly penetrating her opening and then pushing deep inside her. Leaning back, Robin carefully ran her fingers into Alfie's curly red hair, wondering for a moment if it was a wig, it seemed to hold so firmly, but then losing herself into the sensation of the tongue that was pushing in and out of her pussy. Since her teenage years she had a weird fantasy about getting fucked by Alfie and now, as an adult, here she was with Alfie eating her pussy. Robin felt Alfie's tongue move up to her clit and she clenched her teeth, feeling the pleasure building inside. She began to move her hips, trying to push them onto the clowns face. Alfie then sucked her clit in between her lips letting her tongue move quickly back and forth just light brushing the clit. The sensation was incredible, driving Robin into a frenzy as she pulled Alfie's head to her and ground her pussy into the woman's face. She then felt a jolt of pleasure crash though her body and bright lights shined in her eyes. Her whole body trembled as she pulsed from inside, the pleasure rolling through her again and again. It was several moments before she realized that the bright lights were the lights coming back on. She looked down and met Alfie as she rose up from between her legs meeting in a kiss. Tasting herself on Alfie's lips and tongue, she breathed hard through her nose as their tongues mingled together. When the finally broke apart she looked at the clown and saw her cheeks and chin in a flesh color and the rest of the face in white. Glancing down between her legs she saw the white makeup from Alfie's face and the red makeup from her lips all over her thighs. "Oh my, this must be one of the hazards in loving a clown," Robin said. Laughing, Alfie replied, "Oh yes, here, we better clean you up some." She handed her some paper towels which Robin dampened in the sink and ran over her thighs, removing some of the makeup. "But what about you? You can't go back out there looking like this," she said, running her fingers gently over Alfie's face. "That's the good thing about these pants, I can carry all the makeup I need," she replied, quickly working the white over her cheeks. "You don't have a makeup person do that?" "Not on the Hastie Burger Bar budget, I do it all myself. I got to where I can get it on in no time," she replied reaching in her pocket for the red lipstick. "See what I mean," she said after fixing the lips. "I guess I can use the hand dryers on my clothes," Robin said. "I better get back out there and see what they plan to do. You're welcome to stay in here as long as you want, but if customers start coming in they may want to come back here." "What about you, will you come back here," Robin asked, running her hand along the inside of Alfie's thigh. Bending down to kiss Robin again, she replied, "I'll come back and let you know either way. I am hoping they don't open up. That way I just need to hang around while they finish up their paperwork, I then will need to leave with them." "Okay, come back soon," Robin said. She watched as Alfie the clown slipped through the restroom door. Alfie slipped through the door after becoming Robin's own fantasy come true.