48 comments/ 105427 views/ 25 favorites November By: StangStar06 Author's note: Hi folks, Happy Halloween. Before we get started I wanted to let you know that though it is Halloween themed, this is very much a Loving wives tale. There is a very slutty wife who cheats on her husband and runs off with his money leaving him broken hearted. So this story does belong in LW. This one is just a bit more serious than the one I wrote for Halloween last year (Boo) so be prepared. I want to thank both mikothe baby and AlleyKat86 for their efforts in making this story readable. Without them there'd probably be a comma after every other word. SS06 * * * * * * The crisp fall breeze brought a fresh smell to the water as Isaac Turner walked along the deck. He looked over the rail as the ship coasted along down the Detroit River. There was a chill in the air and he thought about going below deck to get a jacket but decided to check on the youngster first. He looked down the length of the over 700 foot long freighter and tried to locate his charge. Before he caught sight of Jimmy he saw something else that brought a smile to his lips. There on the shore of Belle Isle, the gem in the center of the river between Detroit, Michigan, USA and Windsor, Ontario, Canada, he saw them. There was a group of small children, all waving as hard as they could at the ship as she passed. The group of smiling small faces brought a smile to Isaac's weather beaten visage as he watched them. He knew at that moment in time every one of those kids wanted to be on the ship. By tomorrow their thoughts would be back to music, monsters and video games, but for that one brief moment as the ship passed by, it was their total focus. That was the great thing about children. Isaac knew from experience because he had two of his own. They put their hearts into everything they did. If only adults could do the same. "Hey, Ike, who ya wavin' at?" asked Jimmy from behind Isaac. "Just a bunch of kids there on the shore," said Isaac. "Why bother?" asked Jimmy. "I probably made their day, just by being polite," said Isaac. "Besides that, what goes around comes around. You never know, one of those kids might grow up to become our next shipmate or our next owner. I always try to treat people the way I'd want to be treated. Shitty things that you do tend to come back at you. Good things tend to come back too." Jimmy nodded his head and shivered at the breeze. It was definitely chilly out today. Even for late October in Michigan. But at least there was no snow. Michigan was a state that had the full complement of four seasons. The state's weather was also subject to abrupt and violent changes. There was an old saying in Michigan, "If you don't like the weather, just wait 10 minutes and it'll change." The ship they were both working as deck hands on was called the Bill Maitland. Its company ID and shipping number was DQS1. She was 729 feet long, 75 feet wide and 38 feet tall. The ship carried iron ore to ports in Michigan and Wisconsin. At that moment, in fact, she had almost 26,000 tons of pellets in her belly that would soon be made into cars and trucks. "Shit it's cold out here," snapped Jimmy. This was his third trip on the ship and he was getting used to it. He sometimes liked to show off his knowledge of things about the ship, so the old timers didn't still treat him like he was green. "If I didn't know better, I'd swear the wit..." the rest of Jimmy's words were cut off so quickly by Isaac clamping his large hand over the young man's mouth that it felt to Jimmy like he had eaten the rest of sentence. "Shut the fuck up, boy," sneered Isaac angrily. "You NEVER mention HER, anywhere near the lakes. You especially do not say it around October and November. Do you understand me?" Isaac was looking so intently into Jimmy's eyes that Jimmy felt fear. Jimmy knew that Isaac was big enough and strong enough to snap him in half without a thought. But Isaac was also the kindest and most gentle man that Jimmy had ever met. It took something miraculous or very serious to raise his friend's ire. Jimmy nodded his head to let Isaac know that he understood him totally. Jimmy had known that sailors or mariners, as they were now called, because very few ships actually sailed these days, were a very superstitious lot. Those superstitions seemed to be magnified on the great lakes. But with all of the advances in technology and modern equipment, Jimmy didn't expect anyone to truly believe in all of those old tales. Maybe it was just the generation gap rearing its head again. Ike at fifty some odd years and Jimmy at twenty four had more than a generation of differences between them. They had nearly no shared life experiences to bring them together. In fact, the only thing that made them friends was the fact that they were both deck hands on the DQS1. Other than that their lives were nothing alike. Where Jimmy met a new woman in every port they hit, his friend Isaac had been married to the same woman, Tina, for longer than Jimmy had been alive. Their relationship was often tumultuous and there'd been many occasions where Jimmy had to calm Ike down. Almost everyone on the ship knew about Ike and his wife's continuing battles. That was one of the reasons that Jimmy didn't see himself trying to settle down until he gave up the sea. It was simply too hard trying to keep a relationship stable when you'd be away for weeks at a time. Ike claimed they stayed together because they loved each other. But Jimmy, after listening to the couple's nearly constant battles often wondered, what love had to do with it. Ike also still maintained a lot of the superstitious practices that had long been a part of sailing lore. Jimmy on the other hand wasn't religious or superstitious. He didn't believe in anything he couldn't see, feel, or taste. Even most of the things that he could hear, could be explained scientifically. One of his favorite shows, that he watched whenever he could on the internet, Ghost Hunters, showed that a lot of the things that people thought were supernatural in origin, were actually very easily explained. So Jimmy just laughed inwardly at his friend's abject fear of Jimmy mentioning the Witch. The Witch," thought Jimmy. "The Witch, the Witch, the Witch. Fuck the Witch," said Jimmy, very quietly under his breath, as Isaac walked away. * * * * * * Though Jimmy's nearly silent words were too quiet to be heard by human ears, they still echoed through the river's water and became a part of it. By being a part of the river they were a part of Lake Huron that it fed into. Jimmy's words were carried through the St. Mary's River and the Soo Locks into Lake Superior. Lake Superior, by surface area, is the world's largest freshwater lake. Both Longfellow and Gordon Lightfoot wrote about Gitche Gumee which means "big water". Whatever you call it, Lake Superior is big and scary. The depths of the lake contain areas where the water is below freezing most times of the year. Local superstitions tended to say that the lake and its sister lakes were all living entities with spirits and personalities. There were all kinds of legends revolving around the lakes and their abilities. In Jimmy's case, the problem wasn't with the spirit of the 10,000 year old lake. It was with something far younger but at the same time far older. Deep near the center of the lake, in one of the coldest parts of the lake, the area that was so cold it was called the lake's ice water mansions, the ripples of Jimmy's words caressed a body. Just the touch of the word laden water was enough. A being stirred and eyes of an eerily icy blue opened. A thin arm waved and the wind along the top of the lake whipped up, creating a whirlpool that knifed deeply into the lake. The rapidly circulating current was not un-noticed by superior herself. In a voice as deep and watery as the ocean, Superior spoke, "Return to you slumber, little sister. It is not quite your time." The wind howled back to the lake in answer, even as the whirlpool cleared a path for the body to the surface of the water. "Something calls to me. And I must answer." The force of the wind increased, until the body, emaciated yet bloated by the water broke the surface and floated suspended above the surface of the water. Thunder cracked and lightning struck the water. The winds whipped up to gale force in a very tight arc around the body. The suction and friction from the winds drew all of the water out of the body. The lake water had acted as a preservative, keeping the body fresh. As the body dried out the wind entered it. The body became the residence for the consciousness of the wind. In a way that was very strange, the body became the wind's vessel. It allowed the wind to interact with beings and entities on the mortal plane while still tethered to the ethereal plane on which she and her cousins, the spirits of the lakes, existed. The wind and the lakes could always affect people, places and things on both planes, but had no knowledge of the results, nor any motivation for their actions on this one. Her sister, Superior, often sank ships and killed many without realizing it. The body, whose consciousness was now that of the wind, smiled thinking about it. She shook her head vigorously. So hard, in fact, that if she'd still been human, her neck would have shattered. Her eyes glowed with unnatural fire and purpose. She still had thoughts in her head that belonged to the original consciousness that this body had housed. That human had been dead for over 30 years as humans counted time. She wondered why the human's thoughts, memories and feelings sometimes still plagued her. No matter, she thought. She was no longer...Sue Ellen Hopper. It was amazing that she could still remember the human's name. She was November. The humans, those frail, useless little beings, called her the Witch of November. They only knew her for the storms she brought when she awakened each year. They knew so little. For the past 31 years she'd had a purpose among them. Surprisingly no one had figured it out yet. As November looked around her she felt herself called towards the shore. The call came from outside of Gitche Gumee to where Huron's waters rolled. She felt the call very strongly and what it promised. But first, she needed a snack. Fuck the witch, indeed. * * * * * * Clifford Darden slid out from under the back end of his 2008 Mustang GT. He'd been doing some work on the car's suspension. He needed stiffer upper and lower control arms to keep the pony car's rear end from hopping every time it hit a bump or a chuckhole. The car had a lot of power but getting all of it to the road was difficult. He wondered why the hell Ford still refused to give the car an independent rear suspension. Shit, most of them came with a limited slip rear differential anyway. So why the hell were they still using a rear axle that was basically an I-Beam with a wheel on each end? Realistically he didn't care. He loved his car so much that the few flaws in its design were more like personality quirks than failings. Cliff didn't know any people who were perfect either. What had caused him to come out from under the car was the sound of another car outside of his garage. He knew that it was more than likely the arrival of his wife, Ramona. He wiped his hands and ducked inside the house just in time to see the attractive blonde run up the stairs and go straight into the bathroom attached to their bedroom. She'd been doing that a lot lately. It seemed like she needed a shower every God damned night when she first got home. He wondered what she did at her job as a receptionist that was so strenuous that she needed to shower as soon as she got home. This wasn't what he'd signed up for when he married her. He didn't really understand why she needed to work in the first place. His six figure salary was more than enough to provide for the both of them. Ramona's job didn't earn her nearly enough to pay for the clothes he bought her to wear to work. He'd sat down and showed her several times that in terms of saving them money; it would be more economical for her to quit her job. The cost for the clothes she needed for the job, in addition to her regular clothing, plus the wear and tear on her car and the gas it cost, were far more than she made. When you threw in the lunches she ate every day at her favorite restaurant, they were losing money at her job. He respected her desire to work and to retain a semblance of economic independence, but this was pushing it. They'd been married for a little less than two years and they were already starting to fall apart in the bedroom. They went from almost nightly sex, to the point where it seemed like now she was only throwing a weekly mercy fuck in his direction. Even those weren't enough because it felt like she was just going through the motions. Cliff loved Ramona. He'd taken one look at her and fallen hard. His heart had just been laid at her feet to do anything she chose to it. Although Cliff was no troll, he wasn't exactly Romeo either. He'd expected her to stomp his heart into the ground and walk off laughing. At the very least he'd expected her to give him a gentle and polite brush off while searching for some leading man type guy. He'd been more than pleasantly surprised when she returned his interest and affection with what appeared to be similar feelings of her own. Their courtship had been brief but intense. They were engaged after only three months, married after six and headed rapidly for a divorce after only two years. It hurt badly. Lately Cliff got more affection out of his car than he did Ramona. It would probably only be a few more days before he'd be ready to confront her. One way or another, this had to end. Of course, he suspected an affair at work. He'd done all of the usual things, including putting an investigator on her. The man was supposed to report back to him in only a few days but what then? What would he do if it turned out that she was having an affair? The macho thing would be to kick that bitch to the curb immediately. Throw her out on her well-shaped ass. Maybe he should even get more macho and beat the shit out of her and whomever she was fucking. That was the John Wayne way of doing it. The problem was that he wasn't John Wayne. Cliff didn't take any shit off of anyone, but this was real life. He loved Ramona so much that he couldn't see a life without her, even after only two years. He was torn, but he knew that in the end his only hope was that if he confronted her and bluffed, she'd agree to give up the other man. Spending his nights cuddling with Ramona, even when she claimed to be too tired to do anything else, was still better than being alone and it was better than being with anyone else too. On one hand, he wished that Ramona could love him the way he loved her, on the other he wished with all his heart, that he'd never met her. One way or another though it would all be over soon. He shrugged his shoulders and went back to finish the work on his car. * * * * * * Ramona Darden stood in the shower of the home she shared with her current husband. She quickly scrubbed every inch of her body as she leaned back and watched the cum that was leaking from her bruised pussy run down the drain. The milky fluid was diluted as the spray from the strong shower hit it and changed its consistency. She bent down and scooped some of the now thinner semen from the inside of her leg. She licked it off of her fingers to satisfy her curiosity about whether it would taste the same. It didn't. She thought back to the past four hours she'd spent in a motel room on the other side of town with three guys she hadn't known this morning. She had to get herself squeaky clean so Clueless Cliff wouldn't be able to tell that someone else had stretched her pussy out for her. Ramona loved rough sex and poor little Cliffy, though an adequate lover, just didn't have it in him to give it to her the way she needed it. The one advantage that Cliff had was his house. It was hidden away in a nice little gated community. It had been the perfect place to hide out after the insurance scam she'd nearly been busted for just before they met. Now two years later, no one was still looking for her and she'd almost gotten enough access to Cliff's accounts to bleed him dry as well. When she left him in a few days, she'd be able to pull nearly a million dollars in cash and investments out, to ease her way to her next scam. The thing she loved the most about Cliff was how God damned trusting he was. Being with him also taught her that the insurance scams and B&E jobs that she'd cut her teeth on were just too dangerous and not nearly profitable enough. This thing that she'd pulled with him was nearly too good to be true. Just find a rich sucker. Get him to fall in love with her, marry her, hide out with him for a while then leave him and leave him broke. It had simply been too easy. Her long thick blonde hair and big innocent looking blue eyes made men stupid over her. Her large breasts and rounded backside made them all eager to have her shit on them. None of them knew that the fire between her legs burned so fiercely that she'd have paid them to take what they wanted from her anyway. But what really got her off was not a guy who treated her nicely. She really liked a man who knew what he wanted from her and just fucking took it. The men she'd met this afternoon were all like that. They hadn't wasted her fucking time trying to get to know her. They didn't even know her name and didn't want to. They'd marched her straight to the motel and made her use some of Cliff's money for the room. Then they'd proceeded to fuck the shit out of all three of her holes and even the valley between her large breasts. She was still tingling from the memories of what they'd done to her. She'd come home from the motel room full of cum. She was also covered in it. She'd run up to the bathroom to clean herself up before Cliff saw her. If he had, there was no way he'd stay married to her. There was also the fact that even though she didn't love him, she did have feelings for him. And she didn't want to see him hurt needlessly. Ramona wasn't actually capable of love as most people knew it. So in a way Cliff was the closest she'd come. She felt the same way about Cliff that most people would feel about a pet. She showed him affection but she wouldn't hesitate to put him down if he caused her too many problems. After she was done with her shower she decided to give him a little treat that evening. She was a little sore from the afternoon's exertions, but his gentle licking and lovemaking would be just the thing to help her relax. "Cliff," she called out to him. She went down the stairs covered only in a towel with her hair wet and dripping. She looked around the house and didn't see him. Where the hell was he? As she looked through the house she realized that she was going to miss this place. Cliff had spent both money and time to assure that she was both comfortable and happy in the sprawling ranch house. It really did feel like home to her. She'd never had a home before this, at least not one of her own. She looked at the pictures scattered around on tables and on the walls. There were lots of pictures of her and Cliff in different places around the world. They seemed to be really happy. Only she knew that the memories they'd shared were just a part of her efforts to work her way into his trust. She heard a slight clanking sound from behind the kitchen and realized where he was. He was in the garage with his other wife. She wondered whether he would choose to keep her or the car if he had the choice. "Cliff," she called as she opened the door that separated the garage from the house. He looked away from whatever mechanical thing he was working on under the car and she saw sadness in his eyes. He knew. Instincts honed from years of scams told her infallibly, that her mark was on to her. November She didn't know exactly how much he knew, but he knew something and they wouldn't last much longer. "Hey Honey, I thought about you all day," she cooed. "It's been a few days since we uh..." "I'm kind of tired," he said, looking back to his car. She now knew the extent of his knowledge. The pain she'd seen on his face was jealousy. He suspected that she was fucking around on him. He would probably get someone to follow her around. If they looked too closely they might find something. She'd have to bolt tonight. She wouldn't get all of the money this early in the game though. She'd have to settle for a few hundred grand. Luckily, her backup puppy would be home tonight. He was a sailor and could probably smuggle her away, if she pressed him. She'd already fucked him on that huge ship that he wasn't supposed to take her on. "But, Baby, don't you want..." she began. She really wanted to try to save this if possible. Her best chance at getting all of the money was to convince him to put up with her shit for a few more weeks. To be honest with herself she hated to admit it but she really wasn't ready for her time with Cliff to end. Yeah he was Clueless, but he loved her unconditionally. She'd never had that before either. She'd proabably miss that more than the house. She put an expression of regret and pain on her face, as if he'd hurt her badly. Her performance was so good that she could see he was beginning to cave. Maybe she'd even let him have her ass this time. Everyone else she'd fucked had just taken it, so why not give it to her husband. She almost laughed about it. She started walking towards him and let her towel open just a bit. And then it happened. His cell phone rang. He looked at her apologetically and said, "I have to take this." Ramona knew Cliff like she knew the back of her own hand. She had him so well trained that he usually told her everything. If he had a business call, he had no qualms about discussing it in front of her. But he didn't want to take this call with her present. That could only mean one of two possibilities. The first was that it was something he didn't want her to know about. And the second was that it was directly involving her. Of course it might have been a surprise that he was planning for her, but better safe than sorry. She had to assume that he knew about her and this phone call was not good news for her. She tip-toed over to him even as he turned away from her and shielded the phone. She kissed him lightly on his cheek and left the room. She made a big show of silently closing the door behind her and then dropped a pan in the kitchen. The sound carried througout the house. She knew that he'd think she was making something to eat. Then she quickly walked back to the door that she hadn't fully closed and listened. She heard him talking about pictures and video. She couldn't make out the entire conversation but hearing his side of it let her know that her instincts had been correct. She went back to the kitchen and made herself a sandwich. As Cliff came over to her she smiled and asked him if he wanted something to eat too. "Maybe when I get back," he said. "There's something I need to talk to you about too, okay?" She nodded her head and smiled. "I love talking to you Honey," she said. "I'll be waiting." Her smile was so bright and the look she gave him told him that she'd do anything for him. He left the house. He got into his Mustang and thundered out of the garage. God Damn it, she wished that he'd driven a different car. She'd have taken that one with her in a heartbeat. Before he'd gotten to the end of the block, she was putting her clothes on and had grabbed several of his credit cards that she'd hidden. He, like a number of people, used the same ATM pin on all of his cards. That would make it easier for her to drain them. She tucked the cards into her purse, and then hit the safe. He usually kept between ten and twenty thousand dollars in cash there for emergencies. He also had a couple of easily redeemable CDs. She'd max out all of the credit cards with cash advances and then cash out the CD's in her next town. She'd probably come out of this with about a hundred thousand dollars. It wasn't chicken feed but she didn't have access to the main bank accounts yet. She'd been planning on pretending to buy him a really expensive car for his birthday. She'd already spoken to the man who handled their accounts at the bank. She was going to give the idiot the impression that she was buying Cliff a Ferrari. That would kill two birds with one stone. It would give the idiot at the bank the impression that he was more attractive to her than he was or would be. She might even give him the impression that she might give him something extra for helping her. On the other hand, poor, stupid Cliff would have thought that she was buying him something. He'd think that she didn't know that he'd had to release the money. By the time the car was supposed to be there she'd have been long gone. Oh well, next time, next sucker she thought. She really was going to miss him though. He really did love her and her heart wasn't completely stone. But she'd get over it, they both would. And in a way she was doing him a favor. She was teaching him a very important lesson. He'd learn that he had to be far more careful with both his money and his heart. * * * * * * Cliff met with his PI, Frederick Sandford. "Sit down, Mr. Darden," said Sandford. Fred Sandford was a grizzled old vet who went into the investigations business after leaving the military. Through the years he'd seen it all. He'd seen men who cheated on their wives so often, that chasing strange pussy was like buying a hamburger to them. He'd also seen men who loved the women who cheated on them so much, that even after they caught them, they gave them chance after chance until it became more a game of "Don't ask, don't tell." He was sure that Darden would be one of those. The guy loved that bitch so much it was crazy, but who wouldn't. The woman was hot. Hell, Sandford himself would have fucked her if he'd gotten the chance and then told Darden that she wasn't doing anything. It would probably have been better for the guy anyway. That way at least he could have kept his self-respect. It was not going to be fun telling this guy that the woman he loved was fucking anything and everything that crossed her path. Age, sex, race, appearance, none of those things seemed to matter. If it was breathing she'd fuck it. He'd seen women before who were bi-sexual, but this woman was Quadra-sexual. She'd try anything sexual for a quarter. "Mr. Darden, I have some bad news for you," said Sandford. He'd put on his professional, sad sounding voice because it made the clients think that he really felt their pain. In reality, the clients paid better when they thought that he was sad for them. "Your wife is definitely playing around on you. But the good news is that it's not one special guy. That would be far worse," said Sandford. "Okay, I'm lost," said Cliff. "Wouldn't it be better if it was just one guy?" "Hell no, much worse," said Sandford. "If she's fucking one guy all the time, there are feelings involved. She probably likes him or loves him even. If you put her back against the wall she might even leave you for him. But if it's a bunch of guys then she probably loves you, but needs more sex or more excitement or something like that. Things like that can easily be fixed. You might even be able to save your marriage." "In a case like that, maybe her sex drive is just way higher than yours and rather than trying to hurt your feelings, she just goes out to get what she needs and then comes home to you. When you're together, how does she treat you?" asked Sandford. "Well, she does treat me well," said Cliff. He was beginning to see this totally different from the way he'd thought it was. Maybe things weren't so cut and dry. "She seems to just light up when I come into the room." "So there you have it," said Sandford. "Take this folder. Go home and show her the pictures and the videos. Scare the shit out of her. Make her think that you want a divorce and get some counseling to help you work through this." Cliff's mood was substantially better as he headed home. * * * * * * Jimmy had sacked out on his berth for a quick nap after helping the other deck hands unload most of the cargo. It was heavy physical labor and very tiring. He'd had a quick nap before he called Melissa, his woman in town. She was a few years older than him, but she was so hot that it didn't matter. Jimmy also knew that she was married and that didn't matter to him either. He was fucking her, not her husband, so it was none of the husband's business. Even though there was a large crane that lifted most of the cargo, Jimmy and the other deck hands as well as the loading crew from the docks, had done hours of exhausting work to unload the ship. They'd moved thirteen thousand tons of pellets and loaded almost that same weight of un-milled castings. Both the castings and the rest of the pellets would go on to Wisconsin with the ship. They'd head for Wisconsin first thing in the morning, so Jimmy would only be able to get together with Melissa for one night. On the return trip, he'd be staying for three days so maybe they could actually have a real date of some kind. But tonight would just be about taking the edge off. "Jimmy, there's some broad waiting for you," yelled Carl Jones. Carl was another deck hand. He'd been aboard the ship for only a few weeks more than Jimmy had. Carl had the reputation of being sneaky. Most of the crew had already decided that he was an okay guy, as long as you didn't trust him with anything you didn't want to lose. Carl also seemed to be very likely to break any rule that he thought he could get away with. "Do you want me to bring her down to your room?" called Carl. "Hell no," said Jimmy. "The captain would kill us both." "The old guy is ashore. What he don't know won't hurt him," snickered Carl. "Okay bring her down," yawned Jimmy. Ten minutes later, Ramona, who Jimmy knew as Melissa, was rubbing her pussy against Jimmy's mouth as he licked as fast and as hard as he could. She had to stick a pillow against her face to keep from crying out. Then Jimmy got up and pushed her back down on his berth. He pulled her legs apart and started fucking her. Ramona was still sore from the men she'd met at the motel earlier but was doing her best to make Jimmy think that she was horny as hell. What Jimmy was doing to her actually hurt, but she'd long ago learned that moans of pain and moans of pleasure sound a lot alike and most men can only perceive what they think they want to hear. So when Jimmy felt her jump as his dick hit a still raw area, he believed it was pleasure. When she moaned, "Ohh!" as he touched still raw nerve endings; he thought that he was the best lover she'd ever had. He really believed that she'd missed him so much that she'd waited on the dock for him, when she really needed to convince him to sneak her away to Wisconsin that night or early the next morning. She was sure that Cliff would have the police and his PI looking for her over the money she'd stolen. Even though Cliff could afford to lose it, that amount of money would send her to jail for a very long time if she was caught. When Jimmy got done with her and rolled over, she snuggled herself against him. She noticed right away that he seemed to roll away from her. She immediately realized that unlike Cliff, Jimmy didn't want any form of intimacy with her. She was pussy, pure and simple. Now that he'd had some, Jimmy no longer needed her. This put her in a precarious position. She needed a place to hide and a way to get out of town at the same time. She should have waited until they were away from the dock to fuck him. Now she was at his mercy and basically had nothing to trade except for the promise of more of what he'd already gotten. It actually made her realize that she'd done something really stupid. She'd walked out on and stolen from a man who really loved her with all of his heart and soul. What did she have to show for it? She got some money. He'd always given her all of the money she wanted anyway. Cliff was good looking, nice and rich. What more could she ask for? Unlike the man lying next to her trying to figure out a way to get rid of her, Cliff had melted every time she touched him. She would be thirty soon. She was getting too old for all of this running and hiding from the law. Isn't it time she settled down and had all of the things that everyone else had? It was too late this time, but it was time for her to find a life of her own and give up stealing little chunks of everyone else's. "Jimmy, I missed you so much," she lied. Jimmy yawned and looked at his watch. "We'd better get you dressed, babe," he said. "I wouldn't want you to be late." Babe, she thought. The bastard probably didn't even remember the name she'd given him. The funny thing was that she didn't either. "What's my name, Jimmy?" she asked. "Uhm...Uh," he began. "Mmm," she growled angrily. "Melissa," he snapped quickly. "I didn't forget, I'm just used to calling you babe." "Jimmy, can I stay with you? I don't want us to be apart for this long again," she asked making her voice sound very innocent and very needy. "I'll see if I can swing it," he said. "You'd have to be very quiet and very careful because I could get in real trouble if we were caught. I don't know how you'd be able to wash or even go to the bathroom." "Don't worry about it Jimmy," she crooned. "I just want to be with you, okay." Ramona planned to do what she always did. A ship full of men would be no problem. She'd charm some of them into keeping her secret and fuck the rest of them. They'd reach Wisconsin in less than three days even as slowly as the big ship moved, so all she needed was a chance and a place to hide. Jimmy had ideas in mind as well. He liked the idea of having all the pussy he wanted for the next few days. There was also the fact that her husband was rich. If he was nice to her maybe she could get him a job doing something else. Unlike Ike, Jimmy didn't intend to load and unload this ship for his whole fucking life. "Alright babe, we'll try it. Why don't you go and get some of your stuff and bring it back here. Meet me in three hours at the same place you waited for me before," he said. "You won't be sorry Jimmy," she gushed. Three hours would be perfect. She'd already been to the bank and transferred as much money as she could out of Cliff's account. Now she just needed to hit as many ATMs as she could until she'd reached her limits there as well. Add that to the cash she'd taken and the CDs and she was in very good shape. In the back of her mind she had a thought though. It was very insistent and also very persistent. "It doesn't have to be this way. He loves you a lot. He'll forgive you and you can both be happy." She turned the thought off, it simply wasn't her way. She'd been on the run and stealing and conning people for most of her life, why change now? She wasn't sure that she even knew how to live any other way. * * * * * * Jimmy walked into a dirty little river side bar called the Sailor's Arms. There were four things he liked to do when he was ashore. He liked to drink, he liked to play games, he liked to fight and he liked to fuck. He had one down, so he was looking for the opportunity to do the other three. He looked around the room and saw a couple of guys playing pool, a few more throwing darts and a few gathered in front of a beat up television watching the Red Wings game. He was surprised to see that, with Detroit being such a big sports town. Not even New York or any city in California had as rich a variety of sports teams as the motor city. The Red Wings were probably the best franchise in the NHL. The Tigers were battling the Rangers in the ALCS to see who would go to the World Series. The Lions had unbelievably started the year off 4-0. They'd won eight straight regular season games dating back to last year and had won 12 straight games if you counted the pre-season. Michigan and Michigan State were playing this weekend in football. Wherever you looked, there was great sports action. Only the Pistons sucked. The Sailor's Arms was not the kind of bar that catered to a high class clientele. The wood was old and the furniture was beaten down. The floors were scuffed and they didn't serve food, just drinks and bar snacks. Most of their customers were mariners who worked the great lakes. No one who came here dressed up because women rarely ever set foot in the place. Even when women did, they were usually either lost or trying to drag their drunken husband home. Even in those two situations, they left as quickly as they could. It was as if they could sense, that they didn't belonged here. Maybe that was why it was so strange when a huge gust of wind blew the door open and left her framed there in the entrance with the moon shining behind her. The men in the bar drew a collective gasp and there was a low murmuring heard throughout the room. As she moved towards the bar, the men there moved to tables and some left as she cleared the doorway. Without seemingly staring at her, every eye in the room was on her. The wind from outside howled as someone struggled to close the door against it. Jimmy looked at her. He didn't avert his gaze or try to hide he just looked straight at her. She was okay looking he thought. Her long hair was a mousy brown color and it was plastered to the sides of her head as if she'd just come in from the rain. But it was a clear evening. Maybe she'd been washing a boat or a car or something. She was thin to the point of being skinny. There was something crazy about her eyes though, he thought. He'd never been with a really skinny woman before. He could probably split her in half if he fucked her too hard. The thought that he had uhm...Melissa waiting for him, never entered his mind. The thin woman walked straight over to where Jimmy stood. She tilted her head to the side and looked at him strangely. Then she smiled at him. Her clothes looked like they'd seen better days. They also seemed to be very old fashioned. Even the way her long hair was cut seemed to date back at least 20 or 30 years or more. She was either very poor or a hooker or both. Now, Jimmy had a game he could play. He had a new game in mind. He'd see if he could get some free pussy from a hooker. He smiled very broadly back at her. He did kind of notice that some of the men around him were crossing themselves. It never failed to surprise him how fucking superstitious most of the mariners were. This one probably had something to do with women in a sailor's bar. There was also one about women on board a ship, but he'd fucked Melissa on the Maitland several times and nothing bad had happened. Fuck superstitions. He noticed that what he'd thought was some kind of necklace was actually several strands of underwater plants that grew in the lakes wrapped around her neck. That was a little odd. She was probably one of those "Green" people with their "save the planet," bullshit. He reached out and grabbed her hand and pulled her over to a table. He shivered a bit as she went with him. Her hand was as cold as fucking ice. She smelled strange too. She smelled like something very fucking familiar to him but he couldn't place it. "So what brings you in here, Babe?" he asked. ""You," she said. Jimmy smiled even bigger. This would be like shooting fish in a bucket, he thought. Within 10 minutes, she'd grabbed his hand and led him outside. She hadn't mentioned a price but they both knew what they were going out there to do. Even as they tried to slam the door against the wind Jimmy thought he heard someone say something about, "the witch." He laughed again at their stupid superstitions. November "Where are we going baby?" he asked. Even though he'd had sex only 2 hours ago Jimmy was already ready to go again. Variety is the spice of life, he thought. This one didn't have Melissa's big tits or her juicy ass, but he had a feeling that fucking this one would change his life. She had that slightly crazy look that all of the really seriously wild women had. She held his hand in a grip like a fucking vise. It was actually hurting a little bit. He wondered if her pussy would be that tight as well. She was pulling him down by the docks as the wind kicked up another notch around them. The river had been calm only minutes before but the waters there seemed to be rolling almost as if there was a storm brewing. The funny thing about it was the fact that as he looked down the river in both directions the water seemed to calm down more and more the further away from him it got. It was almost as if the storm or the mini storm was following him. He'd heard about weird localized weather conditions and pocket storms before, but never expected to see one. She pointed at a small dinghy that was bobbing in the rough water. It was barely tied to the small pier that local fishermen who didn't have a boat used. "There is no way I'm getting into that tiny assed boat with the water this rough," he said. "Scared?" she asked, smiling at him. "Nope, I just have a good head on my shoulders," he snapped. She smiled at him again as if she liked that image. As she smiled the weather calmed almost instantly. The river was barely moving and the wind became much slower, much weaker, almost a warm breeze. "It was only a spike," she said. "We get them from time to time around fall. But being a professional mariner, I know you've heard of them, right?" "Of course I have," lied Jimmy. "I guess if you're scared to do it in the boat, we'll have to pass," she said. "But I just love the way the waves and the movement of that boat makes me feel. I'd do practically anything in a boat. It's kind of a fantasy of mine." In the moonlight her smile was really hot. And the look in her eyes and that one word, "anything," stuck in Jimmy's mind. "Race you to the boat," he yelled. As Jimmy looked at the boat, a shiver went down his spine. It wasn't exactly fear, but it wasn't too far from it either. It was just a sense of unease, as if something was telling him not to do this. It all went away when he saw the woman stretched out in the bow of the tiny boat. The small waves that moved the dinghy up and down seemed to synchronize with the waves of lust coming from his pants as she spread her legs and looked at him. The woman wasn't exactly beautiful, but she was just...sexy. The funny thing was that Jimmy hadn't actually seen her climb into the boat. He'd been following just a bit behind her and then she just appeared in the boat. Almost as if the wind had just carried her to the boat. Nah, that wasn't possible. If he kept up this way, he'd be as bad as those old guys with all of their "legends of the lakes," bullshit. Jimmy climbed down into the boat from the small pier and faced his soon to be lover. She ran her hands slowly down her thin frame pausing to caress the small swells of breasts that pushed out the front of her dress. Her hands then continued down her sides until they reached her hips then they turned inwards. Jimmy was so busy watching her sensuous self-massage, that he failed to notice that a sudden gust of wind had caused the bow line to come loose and the tiny boat that had neither oars nor motor was heading out into the dark, wide river. The woman had no undergarments at all to prevent Jimmy from seeing all of her charms. Her vagina was tiny, just a line of pink hued tissue between her legs. It was so tightly shut that it looked like it hadn't been used in years, or decades, maybe. So much for Jimmy's theory that she was a whore, she was probably just some frumpy little housewife, who was out for a bit of excitement. Jimmy really didn't mind being a pleasant memory to help her escape the boredom of her every-day life. Jimmy crawled forward in the boat to get closer to her. He noticed that she was smiling. Actually she was smiling too much. She obviously wanted him. "Oh yes, Jimmy," she said. "I want you very much." That was strange. He didn't remember telling her his name. But he must have. "In fact I've wanted you since before I ever saw you," she said. That was really funny to Jimmy. Usually it was him giving the cornball lines to the women. Usually, he was the one doing all of the flattering to help get him into their pants. Another thing was that her voice had changed. It sounded really weird. At first he'd thought that maybe it was just the lust that had changed it. The hormones that accompanied sexual arousal giving her voice a different timber but this was a big difference. Her voice wasn't just a hissing sound derived from lust, it actually sounded like the rushing of the wind. "How could you want me before you ever saw me?" he asked. That feeling was back, the one he'd put away as being a silly superstitious feeling was back with a vengeance. His own voice didn't sound like it normally did either. Perhaps there was some kind of weird atmospheric thing going on here to change both of their voices. Jimmy looked around and noticed that the little boat was far out into the busy river. If this had happened during the daylight hours they'd have been able to easily summon help, but at night, this time of year, they might well freeze to death. Hearing her voice snapped him away from worrying about that. Jimmy was also suddenly colder. The wind had kick up into a steady breeze and the waves were getting larger again. It was almost as if the wind was agitating the water. "It was something you said," the woman told him. "Your words were what actually woke me up. Today was only the thirtieth day of October. I should not have ceased my slumbers for almost two of your seven day periods...What do you call them? Weeks, that's it. I should have slept for another two weeks. Now there will be hell to pay. It's like in those legends that you piss on, Jimmy. That fucking song...ooh I hate that God damned song. It reminds me of how I became as you see me now." Jimmy had started to move away from her as she spoke. He'd noticed that the light he saw in her eyes was no reflection of moonlight. The glow was coming from inside of her eyes. There was some weird shit going on. His only hope was to keep her talking until someone noticed the small boat. There were plenty of river patrols and coast guard ships out during the night. All he needed was time. He was a strong swimmer and as soon as he saw a boat, he could go over the side. "What song?" asked Jimmy, loudly. He'd surprised himself by how strong his voice sounded. Even though he was ready to piss himself out of fear, he looked her in her eyes and spoke to her. "What legend are you babbling about?" he asked. "I hate all of those old legends and all of that bullshit." "Oh, I can't remember the names of songs," she said. Her voice sounded even more like the rushing of the wind. My sisters and I have existed for over ten thousand years. There have been many songs written about the lakes and the storms. But that one really tells the tale. It made me take up this body only thirty or so of your years ago." Maybe it was a trick of the wind, but Jimmy thought he heard a slow and mournful melody coming from somewhere. He also thought he heard a man singing. He could just barely make out the words. It was one of those sad old songs that you heard on the oldies stations and turned away from before it depressed you and ruined your whole fucking day. "The lake it is said, never gives up her dead, when the gales of November come early." Jimmy was almost sure he'd heard the song now. He'd never paid it any attention and he didn't even know who sang the song, but now it seemed to be the most important song in his whole God damned life. He quickly tried to change the subject. "It wasn't the song that made you want me, was it?" he asked. Jimmy knew that the negotiations here had changed. This was no longer about pussy. He sensed that this was about survival. His dick had shrank to an almost painful size and the wind was continuing to ramp up. The waves were so big up and down the river now that few boats would venture out into the river. He couldn't understand it, only a few moments ago the river had been calm. "No Jimmy," she hissed and smiled at him. "It was your wonderful, romantic words that awakened me and called me to come and look for you." "What did I say?" asked Jimmy. "Whatever it was, I'm sorry. I take it back. I didn't mean it. I didn't mean any of it. Oh please Jesus. God help me." The woman in the front of the boat just laughed. "God is on a break, Jimmy; there's only us here now." The wind carried more strange sounds to Jimmy's ears. The same sad song played as if only for him. "Does anyone know where the love of God goes, when the waves turn the minutes to hours?" "Please give me a chance," screamed Jimmy. His words were lost, drowned out by the winds, but he knew that she could hear him. "What did I do? What did I say to wake you?" "Oh, you remember Jimmy," she said as the winds whipped up even higher. "Remember when you called me out. You said it over and over again. Fuck the witch!" Jimmy knew then that his life was over. The woman's face took on a totally different look. It was something very old that predated all other religions in this region. She was a part of the wind... In fact she was the wind. The woman in the boat was the Witch of November. Jimmy felt himself lifted high above the boat. He was suspended in mid-air by the fury of the winds. The wind whipped up the water and even the sand on the shore of the river. The sand was moving so fast that it stripped the skin from Jimmy's flesh. He screamed out as welts and gashes appeared on all of the areas of exposed skin on his body. "Why are you screaming Jimmy," she asked. Her glee scared him more than what he now realized she was. "Because it fucking hurts," he said. "You try having your body sandblasted by a crazed bitch. I'd rather drown." Even as he said it Jimmy realized that he'd made a mistake. All of a sudden the winds ceased and Jimmy plummeted into the icy waters. Instantly his cuts started to ache as the water hit them, but it was only momentary. The water was so cold that he began to freeze immediately. Jimmy tried to swim but he couldn't. Then he felt something grab his ankle under the water. He opened his eyes and tried to stare around him to see what he was hooked on. His gasp of surprise caused the lifesaving breath he'd been holding, to be forcefully ejected from his lungs all at once. Jimmy's surprise came when he realized that he hadn't hooked his ankle on anything. The witch had grabbed his ankle and was pulling him to the bottom of the river. As Jimmy began to lose consciousness he could barely make out the features of the woman holding him under the water. She appeared to be calmly sitting in front of him on a rock at the bottom of the river watching the life exit his freezing body. She watched him die the way he'd watch a sitcom on television. Each new episode might be different, but when all is said and done, you've seen it all before. Jimmy felt his soul being drawn out of his body. He wasn't just dying he was being unmade. His memories were fleeing him even as his body surrendered to the icy cold and lack of oxygen. As his lungs burned, he forgot his childhood. As the icy water filled his pores he forgot his name and his teen years. This was the worse death imaginable. Jimmy could accept dying, but wasn't he supposed to have his life flash before his eyes. Wasn't this where he got to relive his greatest triumphs and failures? He was getting none of that. He was having trouble remembering his name as his soul was sucked into the witch. Then suddenly, she twitched. She looked around and moved angrily. In a movement that was almost too rapid to see she headed for the surface and above it. Jimmy was forgotten in her response to whatever bothered her. * * * * * * The big man stood on the river bank and screamed. He wore black leather from head to toe. His eyes glinted in the moonlight even as he focused his gaze on the churning waters. "Gashkadino-Giizis," he screamed again. "Come out and speak to me before I banish you." Suddenly, November broke through the surface of the water and hovered in midair, held aloft by the winds. She laughed as she saw the man. "What do you want little man?" she asked laughing. "I am very busy." "Go back to your own place," screamed the man. "This is not one of your lakes. Let whoever it is that you are tormenting go and return to your place, before I banish you." November laughed and spun around in the air. "You cannot banish me, little shaman. And if you continue to get on my nerves, I will kill you. Your powers are not nearly as great as those of your ancestors. You've been weakened by your time with the Europeans and their descendants. It takes more than knowing my name to banish me. Knowing my name only got you my notice. Having my notice can be fatal." Even as she said this, Jimmy's body floated to the surface. The man in black leather noticed the body and looked back at the witch. "Luckily for you, this one was not the one I awoke for. He was only a snack. If you continue to pester me, I will end you, shaman. Or should I say, remnant of a shaman. Where is your proud war pony? All I see is a cart with a little horse on its front. You have no power over me." The big man tried to say something but the winds whipped up so loudly that his words were lost. The wind was blowing so hard he could barely stand. All he could do was to watch as the witch floated away from him borne by the winds. After she was gone he ran over to the river bank. The body was close enough that he could grab it and pull it closer to the shore. He hauled the body onto the shore and started trying to do CPR. He yelled, but there was no one to yell to. He pulled out his iPhone and called 911. He continued CPR until the paramedics arrived. The police came with them. He explained how he'd pulled the body out of the water and they took over from there. He spoke to the police and just told them that he'd been out for a drive and had parked up a few yards away to watch the boats go by on the river. As he got closer to the water he'd seen the body and pulled it out. None of the police officers or the paramedics had ever seen marks like they found on the body. Besides nearly drowning, there were larges gashes that looked like slash marks all over it. They took his name and number down and told him that they might have questions for him later. The paramedics weren't sure that the man would even survive. It appeared as if he'd spent too much time without oxygen when he'd been rescued. Even if he did live, there would probably be brain damage. John Lake shook his head. There was too much going on here. His great grandfather had been a powerful Shaman. His grandfather had been a powerful drunk. And his father...who knew? He'd run off soon after John's mother had given birth to him. John's knowledge of the old customs and rituals was fractured at best. He was no Shaman. Shit, he was actually an engineer. He worked in quality control at the Ford plant in Hamtramck. He was out of his league. He brushed off his leather jacket and walked over to his car. Cart with a pony on it, she'd called it. His Mustang GT put out over 450 horsepower. And the symbol on the front of it was his totem of power. He'd love to see one of his half naked ancestors keep up with him when it came to speed. * * * * * * Ramona waited for Jimmy by the Maitland's berth. It had been well over the three hours he'd asked for and she was getting worried. By now Cliff was probably home and had noticed that she wasn't. It would be a while before he discovered what she'd taken. Luckily she had so many clothes that the few outfits she'd packed wouldn't make a dent into her wardrobe. If she was lucky he might even think that she'd gotten angry and went to stay with a friend until she was ready to speak to him. If she'd been thinking she could have called him and told him that. It might've given her a few days to hide. But she'd ditched the phone he'd bought her so she couldn't be traced through it. She'd bought a disposable phone, but she didn't think it would be a good idea to call him using it. Giving him any way to follow her wasn't in her best interest. With Cliff's money, if she didn't stay off the grid he'd be able to find her easily. Ramona shivered. Shit, it was cold down here by the water. She needed to start thinking about what she'd do if Jimmy stiffed her. She'd been pretty sure that he'd go along with what she wanted. Most guys would do anything she wanted, no questions asked. Maybe she was getting older and losing her appeal. The little voice in the back of her mind said, "That's even more of a reason why you should have stayed with Cliff. He loved you stupid. You could have been happy and had it all." She put those thoughts behinds her as she saw the flash of a cigarette lighter up on the big ship's deck. "Hey sailor," she called out. As he looked towards her, Ramona could see that it was the same guy who's told Jimmy she was waiting for him before. He looked at her and waved, then took a drag on his cigarette and headed for the gangplank. He walked down the aluminum structure and was standing next to her within a few moments. "Shit it's as cold as a w..." he began and then caught himself. "Why are you just standing out here?" Ramona smiled at him and Carl felt the blood running from one head into the smaller one. "Oh you're waiting for Jimmy again," he said. "He should be back at any moment. We're pulling out at first light. But that should be plenty of time for you guys to...you know." He looked over at Ramona again. She certainly was a pretty one. "Hey, I probably shouldn't do this, but do you want to wait in Jimmy's berth for him? The captain hasn't come back yet either. He probably won't show up until just before we leave. His family lives here in town and he loves sleeping in his own bed. As huge as this ship is we only have a crew of twenty nine men. So no one would ever be able to find you in Jimmy's berth." "Oh, thank you so much," said Ramona. "I'll tell Jimmy how nice you were to me. Maybe we'll find some way for me to thank you myself later." Carl loved that idea. He wondered if she was thinking of thanking him in the same way that he was. If she was, he was looking forward to it. One thing that was strange though was the fact that she was carrying a couple of bags with her. He wondered why she didn't just leave them in her car. He showed her to Jimmy's berth again and headed off to play cards with the guys on his watch. * * * * * * Cliff Darden was driving fast, probably too fast. The events of the past few hours had taken him off of his game. He was letting his heart control his actions, not his head. The meeting with the PI had gone about the way Cliff was expecting, bad. Then things had gotten worse. Cliff had gone to the PI's office and had gotten the files that he was expecting. He had pictures and video tapes of Ramona in action. The PI had warned him not to look at them. He told Cliff that the best thing to do was to just present them to her as evidence that he knew what she was doing. He could then use them as leverage to get her to stop. The old PI had warned him that if he looked at the pictures or the videos, it would make it even harder to repair his marriage. "No man wants to watch some other guy or guys fucking his woman, unless there's something wrong with him. That's one of the things that tell you that pimps have to have a screw loose. Trust me son, I've been in this business for a long time. I've seen relationships that were far worse than yours, not only rebound and survive, but get stronger after something like this. It may look bad now, but if you're willing to put the work in, you can make it. November Cliff didn't even bother telling the old man that he believed him. Whatever Ramona had done he was willing to give her a second chance, but only one. That was why he needed the pictures and the videos and the file. He intended to sit down with her when he got home, give her the file and then spell out his conditions for them to stay together. She knew that the pre-nup they had would give her next to nothing if they divorced in less than 7 years and it had barely been two. The thing about it was that even if Ramona had cheated on him, having her in his life was way better than the alternative. He really had no choice. He loved her so much that the thought of living without her was painful. If that made him a wimp, then so be it. Cliff had gone home wondering if there were actually reasons that she was cheating on him. Maybe she was hooked on drugs or something stupid like that. Maybe it was gambling. Ramona obviously had no idea how much money they really had. Oh please let it be gambling. He could pay off her debts, get her into counseling and they could go back to their previously happy life. "Ramona," he yelled when he went into the house. He laid the file down on the kitchen table. He'd rehearsed what he was going to say to her in the car on the way home. He was going to tell her to look at the pictures and maybe the videos in the file. He was going to tell her that he'd already seen them and didn't have the stomach to watch them again. No, it sounded tougher to say that if he saw them again there wouldn't be any way for him not to kick her ass. Nope, that sounded like he was a wife beater. If he saw them again there wouldn't be any way for him to avoid kicking her ass out of the house. That sounded better. It sounded tougher and more in control at the same time, yet without sounding like he'd hit a woman. The only thing wrong with his plan was that Ramona wasn't home. He'd called her several times and walked all over the house and she wasn't there. He sat down at the kitchen table with the files in front of him and practiced looking pissed. After a half hour he looked at his watch. It was almost midnight. Ramona had never stayed gone this long. He tried calling her but her phone went straight to voice mail. In all of the time that they'd been married Ramona had never stayed out later than nine or ten o'clock unless they were together. Something was wrong, he knew it. He tried calling a couple of her friends but neither of them knew anything about her whereabouts. Cliff didn't know what to do. He sat down and watched some TV and fell asleep in front of it. Several hours later he awoke and went up to their bedroom. She was still not back and it was nearly three a.m. Then he noticed it. The picture that hid their wall safe was slightly ajar. He went to the picture and noticed that the safe wasn't locked. The safe was also empty. His first thought was that there'd been a home invasion or a robbery. Maybe they'd taken Ramona hostage. He went downstairs into his office. He opened up a program on his computer that let him watch their home's security video footage. They normally used the footage not only to tell if someone had broken into their home but to tell if the contractors, workmen or anyone else who worked for them ever stole from them. The cameras were motion activated to save space on the hard drives and only stored video for a two week period. As he watched the screen he scrolled back to the last movements in the house before he came home. The last image he saw was Ramona leaving the house. She was alone and moving quickly. He scrolled back further and saw Ramona emptying the safe and taking a couple of bags full of her own clothing and personal items. Tears rolled down Cliff's cheeks. Why was she leaving him? Didn't she know that he loved her? If she wanted the money and the other junk she took, she could have it. She didn't have to leave. Maybe she thought that she didn't have a choice. Maybe she knew that he knew that she'd cheated on him. Maybe she thought that he intended to just throw her out on her well-shaped ass with nothing. That had to be it. Cliff needed to find her, but how. Then he remembered the locator chip in her car. That was a laugh. Boy had they argued over that fucking car. She'd wanted a Lexus, like a couple of her friends drove. Cliff had refused and bought her a Cadillac XRS convertible instead. Cliff insisted on buying American made cars. Ramona had stomped her feet and refused to drive it. For three weeks the beautiful car just sat there in their driveway. Finally one of Ramona's friends' Lexus broke down and they had to drive the Cadillac or miss their hair appointment. Ramona had practically raped Cliff when he got home that night. She loved the car and all of her friends were jealous of it. It took a few months, but by the end of that year all of Ramona's closest friends were driving Caddies. Cliff called the locator chip company's service desk. He told the woman on the phone that his wife had gone shopping and had literally lost the car. Ramona had left her keys in the car and called the company to unlock it so many times that her losing the car or forgetting where she parked it wasn't too much of a stretch. The woman gave Cliff a location and he jumped in his Mustang, headed for the riverfront. As he pulled up to the parking lot closest to the location he'd been given, Cliff saw Ramona's bright red Caddy. He ran over to the car and knew that it was over. The car's doors were open. The keys were on the seat along with an envelope. He opened the envelope and read the note. "Cliff, don't miss me and don't feel bad. I wish that in all honesty I could tell you that I'm sorry or say some kind words to make you feel better. But the truth is that in the end that would only give you a false sense of hope and make things harder for you in the long run. This isn't about the fact that you found out that I've cheated on you so don't think that's what this is about. Don't torture yourself trying to figure out what you did wrong and why I stopped loving you. The thing that you need to realize is that our whole relationship was a lie. I never stopped loving you because I never started. From the first time we met you were nothing but a way for me to hide from the police and anyone else who was looking for me. When we got together, I planned on staying married to you only long enough for the heat to die down. I figured six months to a year at most. If it's any consolation, you were so loving and such a God damned puppy dog that after the first year, I decided to stay longer just so I could suck a lot of your money loose to take with me. Unfortunately, you caught on before I could do that. Also don't worry about the cheating thing, Honey. We were never compatible in bed. You're just too lovey dovey for me. Not every woman wants a man to make slow gentle love to her. Some of us like it rough. That just wasn't your style. I'm sure that someday you'll find yourself some boring little woman and make her happy as hell and even have a house full of kids, but I'm just not that girl. If I have any regrets, it's not that I know your poor little heart will be broken. Trust me, Cliff. You needed to have someone fuck you over. You're too trusting and just to God damned nice to survive without learning a few painful lessons about the real world. My only regret is that I wasn't able to take more of your fucking money with me. The letter was signed, Ramona. She added later PS. Ramona isn't even my real fucking name. And while I won't miss you, I will miss this car." Cliff just fell and ended up sitting beside the car crying his eyes out. He wasn't sure how long he sat there. It could have been minutes or hours. But then things got weird. The first indication that something was wrong was when the wind kicked up. Cliff didn't care. He didn't know what to do or where to go. He'd never thought that his life with Ramona would end. He'd been ready and willing to forgive her no matter what. The stupidest part of it was that even after reading the letter, he still was. Then the street lights started blinking on and off. The wind was blowing so hard that signs were bending in front of it and anything that wasn't nailed down was blowing down the street. Cliff looked beside himself and saw her. She was a weird looking woman and she was looking at him intently. She was saying something to him but he couldn't hear her words because of the wind. As if she sensed his thoughts, she shook her head side to side and the winds calmed. It had to be a coincidence, thought Cliff. "You're a man," the woman spat. Cliff just nodded his head. "Barely," he said quietly. "I don't understand," said the woman. "I have never done a man before. I'm supposed to make life better for someone whose heart has been ripped out by a cheater. Oh, occasionally I do someone who is just an out and out asshole for sport. But I don't understand this. In order to feel pain this strongly you're supposed to be a woman. Men don't feel this kind of emotional pain unless their dog dies, their team loses the championship, or someone scratches their fucking vehicle. Oh occasionally, there's one who get upset about one of their kids too, but I've never seen this before." She looked at him curiously. "Say something. Tell me your story," she said. Cliff was too stunned to say or do anything. The woman gestured and the wind that was already at hurricane pitch got even stronger, but only around him. The wind lifted Cliff kicking and screaming into the air and out over the river. Then he plunged into the icy waters before he could even gather a breath. As Cliff descended through the water he realized that he simply didn't care. Without Ramona in his life there was no point in going on anyway. He felt someone grab him under the water and didn't even bother to fight. November grabbed Cliff and placed her icy hands on his head. She needed his memories and she erased them as she took them. She erased all memory of Ramona, what a bitch. When Cliff woke up he would have no memory of Ramona at all. November sensed a presence above her. There was a police car patrolling the street just beyond the shore. She blew over a sign right in front of the car forcing it to drive onto the beach to avoid the sign. The policewoman driving the car got out of it and saw Cliff kicking and fighting not to drown in the icy water. November smiled as the woman waded into the water and pulled the man out. He would be better now but she had business to attend to. Before she could even begin to scan for her target, November was suddenly pulled further downriver. As she rose above the water she noticed that the pull was stronger this time. There he was, the same fucking insect who'd disturbed her before. Clad again in his black leather John Lake held an old Ojibwa power club. This time he'd called two of her names. That was why the call was stronger. He still couldn't control her, but he was getting smarter. He didn't realize that she now had two spirits; one that was the wind of the great lakes and one that had once been human. A great tragedy and an abuse of her power that had caused an incredible amount of sorrow had blended her spirit with the former host of this body. November now had to right a wrong similar to the one that her body had done, every year. The last one that this little Shaman had tried to save had only been a tidbit. She'd swatted Jimmy for the pure fun of it, but also because he'd insulted her and called her out. Now the little shaman threatened November's business. If he ever figured out the third name, he might not be able to banish her permanently, but he could send her back to sleep until next year. November had no idea of what might happen in that case. This would be his own fault, she had warned him. "The Witch of November," said John Lake, holding the club in front of him. "Also known, in my people's tongue, as Gashkadino-Giizis, I banish you forever to the lakes of your sisters. From now and forever more you can only exist in Erie, Ontario, Michigan, Huron and Superior. Go forth and never venture from those waters again. Feel my power." John gestured with the war club. He felt the throb of great power coming from the club of his ancestors. November actually did feel a slight tingle. It pissed her off. She made her own gesture and John Lake was lifted into the air near where she hovered. "Feel the wall," she hissed. A hurricane force wind propelled John Lake backwards at nearly 90 mph. November saved John's life at the last instant by twisting him in midair so his head didn't hit the wall. As it was he broke seven ribs, both legs and his left arm. As he slumped, unconscious to the ground November settled gently onto the grass beside him. She had no idea why she'd spared him. There was something about this one. She gestured again and a gentle cooling breeze awakened him. He looked up at her in terror. "I allowed you to keep the use of your right arm, so you can write me a thank you note," she smirked. "Next time you try to control me, you'll die." "But, I'm left handed," croaked John. "Sue me," said November as she walked away towards the river. Her mind was already trying to find someone. * * * * * * "Should I stay or should I go," thought Janet Charles as she looked at the sleeping man in the hospital bed next to her. She sat in the chair beside his bed as she watched for signs that he might wake up. He was a handsome one, but he seemed to have no idea of what was going on. Only two hours before, she'd plucked him out of the river. He'd been shivering and cold and had no idea of how he'd gotten into the water. He kept saying that he'd been driving around looking for...And then everything would go blank. He didn't seem to remember what he'd been looking for. When she radioed in, the detective assigned to the case had kept her in the loop. Detective Bernie Ghorka, was new to her precinct, but not to the force. He was a good cop and gave her all kinds of information about the man she'd fished out of the river. Janet soaked it all up. Even though she wasn't a part of the investigation, the captain didn't seem to mind her spending time at the hospital until this case was over. There were too many funny things going on in the case. Janet's problem was that the more information she got about the apparent victim, the more she wanted to know. She'd spent hours just staring at him and wondering about him while he slept. Ghorka's report had filled in most of the blanks, but still posed a question or two. His name was Clifford Darden. He was married apparently, but when they ran a background check on him and his wife as part of SOP, they came up with some interesting facts. The facts on him weren't very interesting. He was some kind of software engineer. He was also supposedly very good at what he did and loaded to prove it. He wasn't like Bill Gates loaded, but dropping a million dollars or two wouldn't send him to the poor house. He had no criminal record and except for the occasional speeding ticket had never been in trouble with the law. Even those speeding tickets had been promptly paid off and he'd even been very polite to the officers who wrote the tickets. Janet had seen his car at the scene. Cars like that probably came with the obligation for a ticket or three. It was probably written into the contract you signed when you bought one that you wouldn't hold the Ford motor company liable for any tickets you received while driving it. Anyway, when they ran a check on the wife, alarm bells went off everywhere they looked. The first thing that was suspicious was that they got married in Las Vegas. Anyone can pretty much get married there, so why a rich guy would have to do a quickie wedding in Vegas was suspicious. Then they found out that Ramona Cruz didn't exist. The only Ramona Cruz they found had died in 1980. The age was about right but that was it. She'd obviously taken someone else's identity. While checking the couple's financials they found something interesting. The wife had recently taken out every dollar she could withdraw from the couple's bank accounts. In fact it had been yesterday that she'd done it. As they checked the bank records, they got lucky. The bank used a fingerprint system for access to its safety deposit boxes. They ran the prints and came up with a hit. Ramona Cruz was an alias. The woman was actually Margaret Anne McGillicuddy. There were several warrants for her arrest dating back for over 10 years. She'd disappeared almost two years previous after a big insurance scam in Chicago. All of the men involved had been caught and were serving time but Margaret was never captured. Now we know why. She'd been hiding in plain sight as the wife of an upstanding citizen. When they dumped his cell phone they found out that he'd been in the area looking for the wife's car. They searched her car as well and one of the prints they got from the car verified beyond any doubt that Margaret Anne McGillicuddy was Ramona Cruz aka Ramona Darden. Even worse was the note she'd left the poor bastard. When Janet read that note, it tore her heart out as well. What kind of bitch leaves a note like that to someone who loved her as much as this guy did? Even the tough, battle hardened men on the case felt sorry for the guy. Most of them couldn't look at him. It was like when you had to interview a person with a terrible disease. It wasn't the disease that scared you, or even the fact that they had it. It was the fact that the possibility existed, that you could be in their shoes. Cops had a track record of bad relationships and broken marriages. Any one of those guys could be in Darden's shoes. Janet herself was no stranger to bad relationships. Her last live in boyfriend had been a little bit rougher than the rest. The fact that she was a cop obviously threatened his macho ego, so there'd been several arguments and scuffles. The last one had come to blows. It started out with him just pushing her and quickly elevated. Her self-defense training had helped to even the odds but in the end, his six foot four, two hundred and ten pound frame simply overpowered her five foot four inch, one hundred and twenty pound body. She had to stick her gun in his face and threaten to paint the walls with his brains, if she could find any, to get him to back off. That had been almost a year ago. He'd never dared to come back to get any of his things. After six months she'd donated all of his clothing and personal items to the Salvation Army. Since then she'd been both dateless and celibate by choice. When she looked at herself in the mirror she just couldn't figure out why at thirty two years old she was still unmarried. She was attractive. She was slim with nice legs and a great ass, or so she was told. She had short curly brown hair and beautiful grey eyes. Okay, she'd been absent on the day they handed out the boobs, but that wasn't her fault. All of her friends were either married already or had been and were divorced and working on a second one. Some of them already had kids too. Janet wasn't even very picky when it came to men. She just wanted someone who'd love her and treat her well. She wasn't asking for Brad Pitt. She just wanted a normal, everyday guy who wanted to be hers. "Uhm, where am I?" asked the man on the bed beside her. His voice brought Janet out of her thoughts. "Mr. Darden, you're in the hospital," she said. "Do you remember how you got here?" "Yeah," he said. "I was in the river and a really pretty police woman pulled me out." Janet's face turned the brightest shade of red possible. "That was you, wasn't it?" he asked. She nodded her head and tried hard not to smile. "What else do you remember?" she asked. "Do you remember how you got into the water or why? What about why you were at the riverfront anyway?" November "There were near hurricane force winds down there," he said. "I think I lost my balance and got blown into the river. But I have no idea why I was down there. Wait, I was looking for something or someone, but I don't remember what." "We think you were looking for your wife. Apparently she ran out on you and took a lot of your money with her. We read the note she left you. I hope you don't mind me saying it, but she was a bitch. You deserve much better," said Janet. Cliff Darden looked at her curiously. "Officer, I'm not married. I don't have a wife," he said. "Maybe you're working too many cases and got me confused with someone else." Later on that day Darden was examined by both doctors and psychologists. He was found to be suffering from a very mild case of hypothermia. That was probably due to exposure to the extreme cold from being plunged into the river. Other than that there was nothing mentally or physically wrong with him. The problem was that he simply couldn't remember anything about his wife or the life they'd led. He in fact was married though. The ceremony and the marriage could be overturned easily by him simply going in front of a judge in any state and asking for an annulment. The marriage had been a fraud from the beginning. His wife had lied about everything on the marriage certificate. She had also married him under false pretenses. He struggled to get his mind around it when she'd showed him the copies of the documents. Janet became a fixture at his bedside. Since Janet liked being with him and Cliff had no relatives in the area, she started doing things for him like contacting his lawyers. The psychologists also thought that she should be the one to break the news to him about his wife and help him figure out what to do about her and his legal status. He'd been considering moving to a private room, but he couldn't figure out any reason to. The big guy in the bed next to him was in a medically induced coma. He'd been found in the same area as Cliff had, at nearly the same time. He was a big Native American guy with almost every bone in his body broken. They were going to try to wake him up the next day, if he didn't come out of it on his own. * * * * * * Ramona awoke and looked out the window of the small room on the ship. She heard the sound of footsteps and then the door opened. "Jimmy," she called out cautiously. "No, it's Carl," he said. "We need to talk. It's five am and I have some news for you. We have to get you off of this ship. The captain is back and we're going to head out in less than a half hour." "Where's Jimmy?" she asked. "Jimmy is dead," he said. "The police came by about two hours ago. I knew that you had nothing to do with it, since you were here asleep about the time that it happened. They also didn't ask any questions about you, so I didn't volunteer anything either. We need to get you out of here." "But, I can't..." she began. She grabbed Carl's arm gently. "They aren't looking for me about Jimmy, but there are some people looking for me. Jimmy was going to let me go to Wisconsin with the ship so I could get a fresh start. My husband is rich and has lots of people looking for me. If they find me and take me back to him, he'll only beat me again. The last time I tried to run away from him, he beat me so severely that I couldn't come out of the house for nearly a month. Even when all of the bruises had healed there was still pain for a long time afterwards. I'll do anything you ask. Please, just hide me." Carl listened to Ramona's story. He also looked at her. Carl was an older, smarter man than Jimmy had been. He didn't feel any sympathy for Ramona at all. In fact when he looked at her, he could tell that she was lying through her teeth. "Strip," he said. Ramona took one look at him and knew that he meant it. If she wanted to stay onboard the ship she had to do whatever he wanted. Carl wasn't like Jimmy. She wouldn't be able to get her way with him nearly as easily. He also wasn't like Cliff. There was no love in his eyes as he looked at her. She took off her clothes and stood before him naked. She stuck out her chest and arched her back so her ass stuck out too. "Get over here and get on your knees," he barked. Ramona gave him what he wanted. She sucked his dick like there was no tomorrow, because for her there might not be. She was sure that Cliff had found her car and the note by now and there were probably police looking all over for her. She had to stay on this ship no matter what. With no warning, Carl erupted straight down her throat. There wasn't a lot of fluid but the intensity at which he shot made her choke and gag. Carl wiped his dick off in her hair and zipped up his pants. "I'll be back after we've left the dock," he spat. "And I might bring a few friends with me. If you know what's good for you, you'd better do whatever I say without any questions until we get to our next destination." Ramona nodded and tried to cover herself. The only thought in her head was that she really should have stayed with Cliff. * * * * * * John Lake awakened in the hospital. He had bandages or casts over most of his body. Everything he could think about hurt. It was as if he'd been run over by a truck. He knew that he should be grateful to even be alive. He'd spoken to his great grandfather the day before. The old man had given him a powerful totem. The war club had great power supposedly and he'd used both of the names for the elemental of the fall storms. He'd used both the Ojibwa version of her name and the name that the great lakes sailors called her. It should have worked. It hadn't. A day had passed and it was Halloween now. Tonight the veil between all dimensions would be thinner than ever and all spirits, especially spirits as ancient and powerful as a wind elemental would be at their greatest strength. He'd blown his chance. His best chance to stop November from doing whatever she wanted to do was gone. He could feel it in his bones that the man she'd killed the first time they met was as, she said, only a snack. She wanted to kill someone else and there was nothing he could do about it. He realized now that he wasn't much of a Shaman. Yep, he drove around in his Mustang, wearing his black leather, but when it all came down to it. November had chewed him up and spit him out. She did it much like her Sister, Gitche Gumee did to ships. It was like the verse in that song about the shipwreck. "That good ship and true was a bone to be chewed when the gales of November came early." The only things that had saved him were location and caprice. He'd met the witch in the Detroit River. Her power, though immense, was not nearly as powerful as she'd be in one of the great lakes. She'd be especially powerful on Lake Superior. That was another line from the song and also one of his people's legends about the great lakes. "The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down, of the big lake they call "Gitche Gumee." "Superior," they said, "never gives up her dead when the gales of November come early!" Both the song and his people's legend said nearly the same things. If November was chasing someone or something, and she caught them on Lake Superior, there would be deaths. Quite possibly there could be very many. John knew that the only other reason he was still alive had been the witch's capricious nature. The first time they met, she'd simply smiled and left him with a warning. This time she could have killed him. She'd even made a joke about leaving him the use of one arm. John decided to simply say a prayer for the spirits of all the men on the lakes because there was nothing he could do to save them. There were things here that simply did not add up though. The witch of November was the name they gave to the early fall storms on the great lakes. When and how did she acquire a body? Why would she need one? John's thoughts were interrupted by the clicking of high heels on the hospital floor. A woman walked past his bed and over to the man in the bed next to him. She was pretty. He was lucky. John had been in a few relationships but never had he been with a woman that loved him as much as this one obviously did that guy in the next bed. He tried to fall back asleep and ended up eavesdropping on their conversation. He knew he shouldn't but shit, he didn't have a TV or a radio. They were talking about some woman who'd done the man wrong. He'd supposedly been totally in love with her and she'd ripped out his heart. The man kept saying that he simply didn't remember her at all. When the woman or the doctor with her, showed him a picture, his face had no reaction. He simply didn't remember her. Even under hypnosis he couldn't remember anything about her or ever seeing her. Under hypnosis he did describe another woman though. He described her as being thin with scraggly flowing hair. He also claimed that she floated on the wind and blew him into the river. The psychologist thought that the mixture of drugs used to hypnotize the man had been too strong and he'd been describing a dream instead of real life. But John's aching bones grew cold and terror gripped his heart. He knew that the man was telling the truth. After the psychologist left, John saw the woman who was supposed to be a police officer, arrange the blankets around the man as he drifted off to sleep. She shook her head sadly and whispered, "If only." Then she leaned over and kissed him very gently on his cheek. As she straightened up, she made eye contact with John and realized that he'd been awake and watching her for some time. Before she could think of anything to say in her near panic state, John eased her mind. "Don't worry," he said. "I've been there. I won't say a word." The woman nodded her thanks and left the room. John noticed that she's come to see the man again even though she was off duty and not wearing a uniform. * * * * * * Ramona laid her head back on the filthy mattress on Jimmy's small bed. At the rate this ship was moving she'd probably die before they got to Wisconsin. It was Halloween night and the crew was celebrating. For the Captain and the officers that meant that they had a small glass of rum and told a few creepy stories about weird things that had happened on the lakes. For the other 20 men it meant that they were taking turns coming down here and fucking the shit out of her. At first they came one at a time, but as they grew bolder they began coming in two's and three's. As soon as they learned that they could fuck her ass, it was on. There was no longer any tenderness or compassion to what they were doing. They just showed up and fucked her as if they had a right to. It took a couple of hours before Ramona learned the truth. Carl was charging his shipmates a fee to fuck her. He was pimping her out. He was making a bundle off of her too. She already fucked all twenty of the noncommissioned men aboard the ship; some of them more than once. At fifty dollars a pop, Carl had made more than a thousand dollars off of her so far. At this rate by the time they hit Wisconsin he'd be a lot richer and she'd be too sore to move. She was already beginning to ache in both her vagina and her anus. Her jaw was so sore she could barely open it to speak. And Carl didn't care. The worst part was that he hadn't fucked her after the first time she was with him. When she'd asked him why he wasn't taking his turns, he just looked at her like she was crazy. "Do you know what kind of diseases I'd risk getting by fucking a woman like you?" he asked. "It's just not worth the risk. Besides the best sex comes from someone who cares about you. Not just some whore who'll let any man fuck her. Who wants that?" Again she was left with the one thought that had been plaguing her since she'd left the house yesterday. "I should have stayed with Cliff. That man loved me. We could have made it work." She buried the thought. Her whole life had been like this. It was too late to change it now. There were only two types of people in the world anyway. There were the ones who did the taking and the ones who got taken. When she was younger one of her favorite bands was an all-girl band called "Poison Dollys." Yep, they spelled the name wrong, just like Def Leppard. Anyway they had a song that she'd based her life on. "Love is for suckers," was the song. It spelled out her whole ideology. The two years she'd spent with Cliff were a brief fantasy, not her life. Two more men just showed up and marched into the room as if they owned it. "Fuck this," she thought. "I'm taking a break." * * * * * * At midnight November appeared above the waters of Lake Superior. She reached out with her mind and the wind touched every boat on the lake. The one she was looking for would be here soon. She felt the big boat churning through the water at almost 15 knots. It was just moving past the Black Bay on the American side of the lake. It wasn't really into the Lake proper yet, but she could already feel the evil and the pain that her target had wrought. With only a thought, the winds across the lake blew stronger and colder. The stronger winds across the lake caused an increase in the size of the waves. November smiled. As her winds caressed the big freighter she could feel the lives of the men aboard her. Whether the boat survived this night and whether any of its crew perished was out of her hands. It would be their decision this time. Aboard the Maitland, the radio and communications officer contacted the national weather service. His name was Paul Pittman and he was worried. The waves had kicked up just a bit. It was just a little bit choppier than he'd been expecting, but he had a bad feeling. The report he got from the weather service predicted both warmer temperatures and smaller waves. He radioed ahead to a friend of his on a ship that was somewhere else on Superior. The lake was huge, so big in fact that there were times when it rained on one part of the lake and not the entire lake. After speaking to his friend his bad feeling increased. The temps and wave heights near the other ship matched exactly the predicted conditions for the night. Of course he couldn't say anything to the captain or any of the other officers. They'd laugh at him and he'd be the butt of all kinds of jokes for years to come. An hour later, Pittman called the captain. He needn't have bothered. The temperatures had dropped so low and the winds had kicked up so strongly that the ship was actually moving through the water at half the speed her engines were putting out. Also the size of the waves had nearly doubled since they'd entered superior. It was nothing the ship couldn't handle but it was scary sailing none the less. Pittman looked up as one of the older deck hands asked permission to come up to the bridge. It was Isaac Turner. He'd been on the Maitland for over 10 years. He looked green in the face. "We'll be okay, Ike," said the Captain, Gordon Song. He was a Canadian who'd worked the great lakes for nearly forty years. "I've seen hundreds of storms like these and so has the Maitland. I know what you're thinking but this is just a spike. Go on back to your berth. Have a drink and this'll be over before you know it." Ike saluted and nodded his head. He'd known the captain was lying, but he was a good mariner and always obeyed orders or gave the appearance that he had. He also understood that the captain hadn't lied because he was dishonest. He'd lied because he needed to put up a front to keep the crew's confidence in the ship and her captain to survive this, as high as possible. If the captain seemed to be afraid, what would happen to the rest of the crew? It was a necessary lie. Kind of like what they called a benevolent deception in medicine. If a doctor told you a shot was going to hurt like hell, most people would never let anyone give them a shot. Likewise, if the captain told the crew that he was afraid or started spouting old superstitions, who knew what could happen. But Isaac had never seen waves like these in all of his years on the lakes and this ship in particular. It was like being on a fucking roller coaster. And a ship this big was supposed to smash waves, not climb them and ride them down. Everywhere he looked he could tell that every man knew, as the captain did too, it was the witch of November come stealing. Isaac saw men who normally stood on the deck at night and watched the water during even the roughest waters, huddling in the cabins with fearful expressions on their faces. Ike knew that by morning this crew would either have a story to tell their grandchildren, or be part of a story that someone else told to theirs. As Ike carefully made his way out of the bridge area a strong gust of wind slammed him against a bulkhead. For a fraction of a second he held on and then was swept off his feet. Suddenly an even stronger gust of wind caught the large man and held him in midair. He settled gently back on his feet and looked around himself. That was weird as hell he thought. Jimmy would have loved hearing about that. Of course he never would have believed it. "Jimmy didn't believe in anything, Isaac. That was his fucking problem," said a voice from behind Ike. He turned around and looked. There by the railing where he and Jimmy had watched the kids waving at them back in Detroit stood a slip of a woman. "Come and talk to me Isaac," she said calmly. It seemed to Ike that all of the tossing and turning that the ship was doing didn't affect her. She stretched out her arms and her long hair blew in the winds. She smiled as if she had no fear. At that second the ship started to drop down the side of a monstrous wave. Isaac couldn't tell if it was raining sideways or if the wind was just blowing streams of water over the deck. Either way the rain nearly froze him as it touched him. Why wasn't the woman cold? She barely had any clothes on. And why wasn't she afraid? Ike was scared shitless and this was his ship. Why wasn't that woman afraid? Then it dawned on him. Recognition brought cognizance. Fear gave way to resignation. Ike walked over to the railing beside her. "You're HER aren't you?" he asked. "Afraid so," smiled November. "You're...you're..." he began. "Yeah, Ike," she smiled. "I'm early this year. You know what that means, right? But it doesn't have to be a bad thing." Ike gulped in a big breath and looked over at the woman standing beside him. Something inside of him told him that the thought going through his mind wouldn't be advisable. "Even if I let you throw me over the side, Isaac. I wouldn't die. I can't die as you call it because I'm not actually alive. And boy, would I be pissed when I came back up. I hoped that you were smarter than that. " "What do you need me to do?" asked Ike. "Go and get your captain," she smirked. Isaac slowly made his way across the deck and back to the bridge. This time he burst into the room with a look of abject fear on his face. All of the officers in the room turned and looked at him. "What the hell do you think you're doing Ike," yelled Pittman. "You know better than that." "What's going on Ike?" asked Captain Song. Ike with his face as white as a sheet said, "Captain, it's the witch." "Ike every mariner worth his salt knows what these storms are called and why," said Captain Song. "Get a fucking grip before I have you thrown in the brig." "No Captain," yelled Ike. "It's really her and she wants to see you. She's here on this fucking ship and if you don't talk to her none of us will make it to morning." "What in God's name are you talking about?" asked the Captain. "The witch of November isn't a person. It's the name for the storms." "Tell that shit to the woman standing against the railing in a near gale force wind like she was just out for a stroll on a sunny afternoon in fucking Florida," screamed Ike. "If you think I'm wrong, just go out there. You can always throw me in the brig or fire me. Just get your ass out there and talk to her." November Buck It was a crisp, late November evening in Eastern Canada and we had just driven for an hour through back roads to our remote hunting site. My father, Edward, parked the truck in a tightly overgrown drive way of sorts, under cover of some trees. The rest of the way to the little cabin had to be by foot, and not just because the driveway was impassible, but because, "Deer don't like the smell of a warm, old pickup," at least that's what Edward would say. Ed was short and stocky and "rough and tough" - a label he'd give himself with a twinkle in his eye. He was a seasoned hunter in his mid sixties, physically strong and ruggedly handsome and he was as spry and energetic as a man half his age. Being a man about half his age, I had to wonder about that - he seemed to have more energy than I did! The temperature hovered around freezing as we climbed out of the pick-up. I was bundled in layers from head to toe and Edward was wearing his old camo one-piece hunting suit which, although extremely warm, was fitting snugger than ever that year. Before we got the rifles out of the gun rack Edward said, already using a hushed voice, "If you gotta go, you gotta go here by the truck. Deer don't like the smell of a man's piss." He turned away to pee beside the truck and I turned the other way to do the same. The air was still, as if slightly stiff from the cold, and without even a ruffle of clothing I began to hear Edward's healthy stream hitting the frosty leaves on the ground. Letting out an almost inaudible sigh, Edward finished up, but I hadn't even managed to get my cock out from under three layers of clothing. "You're faster than me old timer, give me a minute to finish up," I whispered, and finally I popped my thirty five year old cock out into the air and began to wiz onto the frozen ground before me. The silence was again only disturbed by the sound of my piss hitting the leaves, and out of the corner of my eye I saw Edward looking my way as he leaned back against the truck behind me. It was peaceful out there in the seclusion of the forest and he cherished the silence, which seemed to lay over us like a thick blanket. And there was the excitement, the anticipation of maybe a buck going home with us later. I wasn't much of a hunter, but just being there with Ed an knowing he was enjoying himself made it all worth while for me. I finished my pee and after some fussing about with my under garments I finally managed to get myself tucked back in. We gathered our gear and set off for the cabin, taking our time and trying to be as quiet as possible. You see, we had baited a spot behind the cabin with a heap of apples a few days earlier and the chances of walking in on a deer having a snack were really quite high. The excitement was invigorating and we shot each other a quick smile as we neared the cabin. Now to call this shack a cabin may be painting the wrong picture, so let me describe it before I go on. It was a 10 by 11 foot box with a roof. One door on the front, and one small window on the back. No insulation, no protection from the cold except for sheltering us from the wind, if there was any. That night there was none. As we approached we could see there was no deer at the apples, so we hurried inside to settle in for the big wait. That's really what it is, no matter how you want to look at it - a big long meditation game, waiting for something to happen. There were two wooden chairs inside, specifically chosen for their solid, quiet construction. You do a fair bit of shifting in your chair as you sit, quietly, in the twilight of the cabin, looking out the window, and the chairs didn't so much as creak if you happened to move. We sat facing each other a few feet apart. Edward had the kill shot waiting because he sat on the side of the window with a clear view to the apples and he kept the stock of his rifle resting on the sill, with the barrel out the window. The idea was that you didn't want to move anything to make the shot if a buck should come into range. My view out the window was out on an opposite angle and I couldn't see the apples at all. I began to share Edwards excitement and I really hoped a deer would appear, but my view was of another animal, and that was just the way I liked it anyway. After many, many years of knowing Ed I had secretly grown to lusted after him. He was a perfectly handsome daddy bear with a soft, mature physique and he sported a nice broad belly. He was as masculine as an old man could get, but he had a soft, gentle side that could warm the coldest heart. There was just something about him that made his easy to be around and I felt very lucky to have him as my father. So there we sat. Some times looking at each other, sometimes glancing out the window, but mostly we sat with our eyes closed, listening. An hour drifted by. I opened my eyes and looked over at Edward sitting there with his eyes closed, his legs crossed at the ankles underneath his chair, with his knees spread wide, forming a nice open V. I let my eyes drink up the sight. He was a beautiful bull of a man, a little under 5,7 and stocky in all the right places. A little gray hair at the temples stuck out from under his cap. He was a rock solid bear with the belly of a man who liked to spend evenings in front of the TV watching boxing and eating crackers and cheese. The solid strength of him was only slightly overshadowed by his nice round mid section - the rest of him was a lean as a fine old buck. I loved the way the suit wrapped around his hefty thighs and showed off the ample package where his thighs met his crotch. It was a sight I'll never forget. My mind drifted back to memories of his living room, watching him sitting on the couch across the room - he would be watching TV, I would be watching him. There were several poses that got my juices flowing. I like to watch him sitting, leaning almost upright at the end of the couch with one leg stretched out straight off the couch onto the floor and the other bent at the knee with his foot planted on the couch, hiked up near his other knee. This pose had the effect of pulling the fabric of his light summer chinos tight over his crotch and depending on how he moved his bent knee his ball sack would be clearly outlined and I would watch his goose egg sized balls shift and roll about as he moved on the couch. He was also a lazy-boy napper during the day. Often I would find my self home alone with him, watching him nap fully reclined in his chair while massaging my own throbbing manhood through my pants . His thighs would push up his ball sack when his legs were together and from there I would watch his chest rise and fall, loving the view of his cock and balls piled high at his crotch, with his gray slacks bulging in all the right places. I also remembered a time in a hotel room while on a summer vacation trip to the south. I woke up at 4 in the morning and saw him, illuminated by soft moonlight, flat on his back in the bed across the room. A single, thin, cotton sheet covered his beautiful body. I got up to take a pee and on my way back to bed I paused in the shadows to gaze upon him - I watched with amazement as the sheet began to rise between his loins and in the moonlight I watched his cock harden and swing from south to north where it came to rest, pointing straight up onto his belly, like an engorged python after a hardy meal. I tried to judge the size of it - was it about the size of the telephone hand set sitting on the table between our beds? Something close to about 8 inches long and obviously thick - I jacked off in the dark hotel room wondering what it would be like to answer a call on it after the first ring and talk on it's for hours in deep, wet abandon. I suddenly noticed my cock had become rock hard as I opened my eyes and found myself back in the cabin. My cock was fighting for space to expand in my layers of under garments. It was painful and uncomfortable and I reached down to rearrange my erection to allow it to extend upward. I looked up and Edward was watching and smiling, but he just slowly closed his eyes again but the slight smile remained. I sat back again, watching him breathing, and I noticed that as his chest would rise the crotch of his suit would rise upward, ever so slightly with the rhythm of his breath. The suite was connecting everything together and I imagined what it would be like to just grab hold of that package, feel the weight of his balls, the density of his hidden manhood in my hands. My cock stiffened again, but this time it was pointing straight up to my belly, and I covered it the best I could with my jacket. Watching Edward was something I could do all day long, and I had a feeling he knew. He straightened his back and stretched slightly, and as he did he brought his knees together which forced the package at his crotch to tighten into a large ball atop his closed thighs. He paused briefly in this position, opened his eyes and watched me grope him with my eyes. I looked up from his groin, locked eyes with him briefly and looked back down at his groin, making him fully aware of the focal point of my gaze. He closed his eyes again, gently smiled at me and spread his knees wide again. A slight sigh escaped his lips. I could watch him do that all day and NEVER get tired of it. I licked my lips as his thighs spread and I watched his manly package fall lower at his groin, but this time the contents had shifted to one side, slightly favoring the right leg of his suit - his right leg resting under the window. CRACK! The distinct sound of a big animal approaching though the hardwood forest behind the cabin brought me back from my fantasies. Edward's eyes flew open and his eyes grew big and round for just a moment. The excitement level was a tangible thing between us as I watched him turn his head, slowly, and look out over the apples. "I can see him, but he's a long way off at the top of the hill.", Edward said in a voice so soft it was barely a whisper. From then on every spoken word was little more than the softest, quietest whisper. It was a thrilling moment, but from my vantage point out the small open window I could see nothing. "I can't see a fucking thing, Edward. I want to watch." I said, smiling. Now my eyes were wide, my heart was pounding and my cock was throbbing like a summer sausage on a hot griddle. "Come on over here, stay low and move QUIETLY.", he said, holding out his left arm to guide me next to him. I slowly moved off my chair and inched over toward him. I got on my knees so my head was just high enough to see out the window and I rested my hands on top of his right knee to keep myself steady. I still couldn't see the deer! "Where is he?", I mouthed, looking up at Edward. Rather than speak a response, Edward pulled me in closer to him so that my right hip nestled in close to his groin, then he wrapped his left arm around me and guided me to straighten up my back so that my head was almost as high as his. He hunched over and guided my head with his left hand on the back of my head. Edward leaned his face in close to mine and pointed, slowly, with his right hand. "There," he hissed. Our heads were close enough that we could speak softly and still hear each other. "I see him." "Aww yeah. Beautiful buck, that one.", Edward said. As he spoke I could smell his breath, warm and sweet, as it drifted past my chilly nose, "That's got to be a six or eight pointer, and some damn good eatin.", he said and I inhaled deeply, letting his scent fill my nostrils. Having even his hot, sweat exhaled air inside me made my knees weak. Then without thinking I said, "When I heard that crack I got so excited my dick got hard." The words were out before I could stifle them. "Me too, like fucking iron", Edward said, "and it lasts until I pull the trigger." I suddenly became acutely aware of where I was - on my knees, my hip pressing up against Edward's crotch, my throbbing hard-on pressed against his leg and both my hands on him: my left on his knee, my right on his upper thigh. And there was no end in sight, because until the buck came down the hill into the apples where Edward could get a clear shot, neither one of us dared move. At least not Edward. No sooner had those words left his lips when I felt it, long and hard against his thigh, right under my right hand. I literally shuddered with excitement. "You cold?", he asked and squeezed me with his left arm that was still around my shoulder. "I don't know if I have EVER been this hot." I said, slowly, softly. I don't know if he knew what he was doing or not, but as we watched the buck slowly inch his way down the hill, Edward was rocking his right leg up and down, ever so slowly, using the ball of his foot as a lever. His hardened member rubbed against my jacket - my hand on his thigh went along for the ride. "Here he comes," he hissed, sounding more excited than ever and I squeezed his leg briefly when he spoke. I could feel his hot breath on my ear. It was becoming slower, shallower. Without taking my eyes off the approaching buck I removed my gloves and let them drop to the floor. I put my hands back into their positions on his leg and now I could feel the warmth of his skin rising through the fabric of his old camo hunting suit. I could feel the muscles of his thigh through the soft fabric. With my glove less right hand I could really feel the edge of his rock hard throbbing cock as it reached it's way up his pant leg where the fabric seemed to be stretching to make room.. He moved his leg again and I let my right hand fall by my side, and with the next motion of his leg I let my hand slip in between my jacket and his leg so I could feel the hardness of his manhood as he moved his leg. I turned my head toward him and our eyes met. Ed licked his lips and motioned with his eyes toward the bulging cock running the length of his thigh. I leaned back and shifted slightly and looked down at the outline of his ridged tool. I ran my hand up and down over the length of it, squeezing it tenderly - it was enormous. Just when I thought my knees could not get any weaker I had to catch my self and I leaned forward again, trying to keep from falling over. "You want to watch me shoot don't you?" Edward whispered, more of a statement than a question, leaning up close to my head as he flicked his hot tongue around my ear, "I've been waiting till hunting season to show you how it's done." "Do you think I can manage this big buck?" I said, again running my hand along the outline of his cock that was stretched out hard and reaching for his knee. "I'm willing to let you try your luck?" Edward said, and he forced my face around and stuck his tongue into my mouth. I felt his day old whiskers rough against my cheek. I met his tongue thrusts with my own, and when he held his out his tongue, long and stiff, I milked it up and down with my lips in short, slow strokes. To have any part of this man inside me was thrilling beyond words. He was so hot and horny. As we kissed I moved my hand back along his cock tracing its outline to its root where my hand instinctively cupped his fantastic ball sack through his clothes, squeezing them gently before tracing the hardness of his enormous member back up against his thigh. "Keep your eyes on the buck outside, and I'll take care of the one in here." I said, and I slowly swung down and around so I was sitting in between that lovely V of thighs, with his throbbing meat inside his pant leg almost touching my cheek. Rubbing my left hand over the fabric bulging from his hardened member, I reached with my right to unzip his fly. I discovered not a zipper, but a single button, which I flipped over, opening up a hole big enough for my hand. I reached my hand inside and I almost lost my load when I felt something warm and fuzzy - he wasn't wearing underwear! That explained the quick piss back at the truck. I let my hand explore to learn first hand about the beautiful nut sack that I had studied from afar for all those years. I felt the hairs bristle under his balls. I reached up to cup them but they were too big to easily balance in one hand, but they hung low, so I wrapped my thumb and fore-finger into a ring around the base of his sack, up high near the base of his cock and squeezed and tugged gently. "Ummm", Edward groaned, low and deep. I reached in, up his pant leg and swung his throbbing member up and out through the crotch of his camo hunting suite. God! The thing was beautiful! Long, thick and cleanly cut. One and a half hands long, it had to have reached more than eight inches and when I wrapped my hand around it, the tips of my fingers barely touched the tip of my thumb. I was in awe. It felt big against my palm, throbbing slightly, both hard and soft to the touch at the same time. "You like the old mans hunting equipment I see." Edward said, but he looked back out the window. "He's getting closer." Edward said. I looked up into his face as he glanced down, not smiling anymore, just looking like a man who wanted his cock sucked. Right there and then. I was not going to disappoint him. I jacked his big cock in my hand a few times, getting a feel for how the skin rolled up over his head on the up stroke. I watched some dog-water dribble out onto my fingers, and I leaned forward and licked it up. It was salty and sweet, like some homemade, hand-drawn nectar. I put my lips over the head and jacked him slowly, feeling the skin on his cock pass my lips on the upstroke. My jaw was fully extended. I worked my tongue over his cock head and teased the underside with my lower teeth. The raw, earthy taste was heavenly. The faint smell of Old Spice cologne wafted up almost imperceptibly with the moist heat from Edwards cock and balls. I did a few more strokes over my lips and suddenly I let go and swallowed as much as I could down my throat. "Jeeeeesssus!", Edward whispered, "Awwww yeahhhhh.. Ummm." It hurt like hell, but I kept jamming it in and each down stroke was deeper and longer than the last. Suddenly my throat just loosened up and I could dive from the tip to the base of his cock and rub my nose in his jet-black pubic hairs past the opening of his fly. I wanted him to fuck my mouth so bad I was willing to risk choking, risk death by cock sucking - I was determined to take it all. I worked up a nice, steady rhythm. I didn't want to stop. I wanted to eat the beautiful buck all evening. My senses were reeling and my nose was filled with a heavy, musky "Old Spice and hot cock" scent that made me want to eat more. The smell of a sixty four year old hunter's cock and balls bathed in the juices from my hot, eager mouth was intoxicating. I pulled my mouth off of his cock and jacked him briskly, pumping his ridged meat with quick pounds of my fist that ran from just under the head back down to base of his cock. I sucked first one nut, then the other. The taste of his salt washed over the back of my tongue. His ball sack was tightening, so I slowed down on the pumping. I slid my throat back onto him for two more slow sucks. I came up for air. "Where is he? Are you ready to shoot?" I said, knowing I meant both. "He's at the apples now, chomping away." Edward said, "I'm ready". Knowing he meant both. He brought his hand down and grabbed hold of his tool and I watched him stroke his cock, expertly cork screwing the head on the upstroke. He followed this with a flurry of strokes, pinkie extended, intended to bring him close to the edge of bliss, the warm sweet edge of orgasm. "You'll have to time it daddy," I said and I proceeded to go down on him again, sucking him like my life depended on it. From tip to base, all of him, inside me, filling my throat with his hot, throbbing cock sausage. Pounding the edge closer now with each stroke. His big, hairy ball sack tightened up close to the base of his cock. Edward leaned over slightly and put the scope of the rifle to his eye. November Buck "Faster!" he huffed. I was happy to oblige and I slammed my mouth down hard over his beautiful donkey dick. "Now!" Edward hissed BBOORACKKkkkk! Edward squeezed the trigger and the rifle let loose a round. You could hear the large buck fall over into the undergrowth - it was a clean kill. The smell of gunpowder filled our nostrils. Edward let out a much louder grunt as he dropped the rifle on the floor and stood up in front of me. He wasted no time. He took my head in both hands and pounded my mouth with thrusts from his hips that I never saw coming. I could hardly breath. Heat, sweat, pain and an impending eruption of cum. I grabbed his ball sack that was hugging the base of his cock and tugged down. "Aww, FUCK yeah!!" he moaned and slid his cock out of my mouth and into his big, rough hand. I tilted my head back and opened my mouth while he pumped a load and a half of string after string of steaming hot pearls into my mouth and onto my face. My own cock exploded, untouched in my trousers. I swallowed his cum down like a starving calf on the udder of a cow. But this was no cow, he was a bull, and I let him swipe his cum off my cheeks into my mouth with his rubbery cock like a squeegee at a car wash. I sucked it clean, smacking my cum covered lips. Edward stood over me with his half deflated member resting on the chin of my up turned face. I dropped my chin and slurped his slobbered, softening member back inside my mouth. I sucked it for several more minutes, running my tongue over the head, washing every inch of him clean two or three times over. I loved the sounds he made, like the purr of a big lion getting the attention he desired from his mate. Ed was one big cat who would never have to lick his own balls - at least not while I was available. "Now that's what I call good shootin," Edward said and a smile split his face ear to ear. He run his hand through my hair as I nibbled on the underside of his cock, tasting the salt on his nuts one more time. "And this buck is always in season," I said laughing. "That was fantastic!" "Now that I have introduced you to hunting I think it's time I took you deep sea fishing," Edward said, "I have a feeling you're willing to make our next trip together one to remember..." -THE END- November Day It was a bright November day. One of those cold blue sky days when you can see your breath billowing in front of your face and steaming up your sunglasses. I felt a little foolish wearing sunglasses in November but the sun was bright and very low in the sky, I had the visor down in the car but was still screwing up my eyes. The time was ten forty seven and I had an eleven o'clock appointment with Hannah. I was assured she was twenty nine, five seven, thirty six D and could offer a really nice Girl Friend Experience. We had exchanged emails and arranged this meeting. I was to arrive at the stated road and then txt her for the house number. My stomach was doing flips. I was chewing gum just to ensure I had fresh breath. I had had a shower and made sure I smelled nice. I just hoped the nerves weren't going to get the better of me. I texted that I had arrived and Hannah texted right back to say number forty two and that the door was open and to come right in. It was a neat little row of houses and number forty two had seen better days, it was certainly in need of a coat of paint but was clean and looked fine. The door was ajar and I cautiously pushed it open to reveal a small hallway and the inner door was also ajar. I carefully walked forward and through into the main house. "Hello, I'm Hannah come on in" said a cheery voice. There she stood, dark hair almost black, shoulder length neat and straight. She was wearing a little black dress. The dress was tight across her ample breasts, a thin waist, flaring out at her hips, the dress finished mid thigh and the long legs sheathed in black sheer stockings into black killer heels. This made her easily five ten as she stepped forward and kissed me fully on the mouth. I kissed her right back and her soft lips parted as we gently touched tongues. "Hmmm you like to kiss then" she purred, "me too. So would you like a drink, tea, coffee, juice?" "Er some juice would be nice" I said finding my voice. "Come on through then." she said leading into the small kitchen. "If you need to freshen up the bathroom is through there." she said motioning to the back of the kitchen. "No I'm fine thanks" I said, "I've just had a shower before I left home." "So have you seen many other girls?" she asked. "No you are my first." I said hesitantly. "Really? I would never have guessed from that kiss, you are very sure of yourself." she said with a small grin as she poured me some orange juice and then handed it to me. I quickly gulped some to release the dryness of my throat. I din't think I would be quite so nervous. "Well come on then." she said "Would you like to bring that upstairs?" She seemed pleasantly eager and I found that my nervousness was being replace by excitement and expectancy. "Shall we get the paperwork done first?" she said gently. I quickly passed her the agreed fee and she took it and just placed it on the table as she lead me to the foot of the stairs. "Follow me." she said with a wicked grin. She walked up the stairs fully knowing that I was getting a fabulous view of her long legs, stocking tops and just a hint of peachy arse. At the top of the stairs she led me into the bedroom, nicely furnished with a large bed a couple of chairs, wardrobe and a block of shelves filled with shoes. "So, make yourself comfortable, would you like to do anything in particular?" "No thanks I replied hesitantly, can we just go with the flow?" She drew me to the bed and we started to kiss and I ran my hands down her back and stroking her slim body. "Why don't you get some of these off." she said gently tugging at my shirt. I stood and quickly striped down to just my shorts. She stood and peeled off the LBD to reveal a Lacey bra and thong and the hold up stockings that I had admired on the way up the stairs. She drew me back onto the bed this time stretching out full length we kissed again this time my hands exploring across her waist making their way up to her large breasts. Nuzzling her neck I continued to explore kissing down her neck to her chest, by now I had exposed her breast and quickly found her nipple and gently taking it into my mouth I felt it quickly harden as she let out an encouraging soft moan. Emboldened I sought her other breast as my hands explored down across her flat stomach and diverting across her hips and down to her thighs all the time suckling at her nipple and swirling it with my tongue. Slowly working my way back up her legs gently caressing the inside of her thigh and reaching that delightful area at the top of the stockings as she gently moved her hips forward to meet my touch. I could feel the heat of her as I gently stroked across her mound. We sought each others lips in a passionate kiss as I slid my finger down the side of her panties seeking her moist centre. She opened her legs a little more to as I ran my finger traced her slit through her silky panties. "Hmm." I groaned as I traced my finger from bottom to top of her slit. Our kisses becoming more passionate. At last we broke for a breath as in unison we each discarded our underwear leaving Hannah in just her stockings. I quickly got back to work on her breasts with my mouth while my fingers explored her delightful pussy. I could feel her soft touch across my back and shoulders as I worked my way south finally arriving at my destination. I adjusted my self comfortably between her legs and kissed up the top of her thighs and into the join at the top of her legs gently licking around her gorgeous pussy and kissing across her mound gently teasing her until I just had to taste her fully. I gently slipped my tongue into her wetness and was rewarded with a sweet saltiness . "Oh yes." she squealed, "you are a naughty boy." I continued to kiss and lick , pressing my tongue deep into her glorious hole. I then started to work on her clit while easing my finger into her, probing deeper and working on her clit as she moaned. She soon started to gasp and buck, "Oh yes, fuck, yes oh god." she moaned as she came hard grinding her pussy, grasping the back of my head. Then she was pushing me away and wriggling to keep me away from her now over sensitive clit. She drew me back up the bed and kissed and licked her juices from my face. "Was that fun?" I asked wickedly, fully knowing the answer. "Ooo very good." she giggled. As she pushed me back onto the bed. "Now it's my turn." she whispered. She started to kiss my neck and stroke my chest. Kissing down my chest her fingers gently stoked my fully hard cock kissing across my belly and gently raking her nails on my thighs. She slipped her mouth over the head of my cock and gave it a quick suck. I groaned as a watched avidly as she licked down my shaft and delicately took one ball into her mouth. she then slowly took all of me into her mouth while she gently massaged my balls slowly drawing me out and then back down the full length of my shaft.I had never felt anything like it before. It was so erotic, so gentle, I could feel my excitement mounting very quickly, too quickly. "Oh god thats too good." i moaned as I gently drew her back up the bed and kissed her, "I don't want to finish too soon." I explained. "Thats fine hun, just take your time. Would you like to fuck me?" she asked with a wicked grin. "I think I would like that." I stammered. "Okay hun lets get you sorted." as she then reached over me to the bedside table to pick up the condom wrapper that was waiting. As she reached over her breast brushed my chin and I couldn't resist taking her nipple into my mouth and she cooed appreciatively. She eased herself away as she tore open the condom wrapper and expertly rolled it on to my cock. "Now, how would you like to do this?" she asked. "Err, I don't really know." I said nervously propping myself up on both elbows. "Well why don't we start like this." she suggested as she straddled me and pushed me back down onto the bed. She then reached down and gently holding my cock she lowered herself onto me. I could feel the heat of her as she engulfed me. She took control of me and started to gently rock herself up and forward down and back, her fabulous tits swaying delightfully as I reached for them and stretched my head up to take a hard nipple into my mouth. Her tempo was gently increasing and I could feel her rotating her hips as she pressed herself onto me. I gently push my hand down between our bodies and found her slit with my thumb and rub her clit in time with her rocking. "OH Yes." she growled as her tempo increased. I could feel my excitement building as I'm trying to thrust in time with her rocking, all the time both of us increasing our tempo. What started as gentle rocking and swaying is now more thrusting. What was slow and languid is now more urgent and sweaty, what was civilised sex is now just fucking, no not just fucking, hard fucking, hot fucking, fucking hot, sweaty, hard fucking. "Oh Yes Fuck No Ah Ugh Right Mmh God." as she's clenching and I'm spurting and she's grinding and I'm thrusting as the muscles across the small of my back are spasming in that glorious release. I pulled her to me as she collapsed on top and we just lie there panting and spent. After a short time she makes to ease herself off as I reach down to make sure the condom remains in place on my now softening cock. We just lie next to each other and cuddle with gentle kisses. "That was fun." I say finally. "Yes it was." she giggled and as I make to ease myself up she gently places her hand on my chest and says "Just wait there a minute." as she grabs a pack of wipes from the table and proceeds to clean me up, finishing with a little kiss on my clean, soft, worn out cock. The little kiss is, I guess, my cue to get myself together and I hunt down my clothes. "So what do you have planned for the rest of the day?" she asks. "Back to work for me." I complain. "Still it pays the bills and for those little extras." "Am I one of your little extras?" she jokes. "The sooner you earn some more pennies the sooner you can come back. You will be back won't you?" the last said with a hopeful little catch in her voice. Did we make a connection or is that just the shrewd business woman talking. It felt like we connected but maybe thats what I paid for. Either way it was money well spent. November Rain Trailing his fingers absent-mindedly up her leg, he wondered what she was thinking. She'd been unusually quiet as they'd wandered down to their spot on the beach and now she lay beside him, head resting on his chest and hand nestled inside his tshirt, her fingers lightly pressed against the warm skin of his stomach. The sky, a glorious clear blue when they'd set off, was turning a stormy grey, clouds rolling in on the horizon and she shivered a little in his arms as the temperature began to fall. Pulling her closer, he rolled onto his side, catching a glimpse of some emotion in her eyes before their lips met and eyes drifted shut. Her mouth clung to his as her hand slipped round beneath his shirt to rest between his shoulder blades, hugging him tightly to her as she draped one leg over his hip, trapping him and pressing her body hard up against his. He ran his hand up her leg to grip her arse tightly, squeezing and pulling her closer until she could feel the bulge in his trousers resting against that spot in between her legs. Wriggling her hips slightly she moaned against his mouth, her hand moving from beneath his tshirt to curl into the hair at the nape of his neck, her thumb stroking over his cheek as her kisses became harder, mashing his lips almost painfully against his teeth. Shivering again, she curled her bare foot around the back of his knee, bending her leg to bring his up until it was captured between hers. The top of his denim covered thigh pressed against her panties beneath her skirt and he could feel the warmth and moisture seeping through the material to his skin as she rubbed her hips against his leg. Rolling on top of her, he rested his weight on his elbows so as not to hurt her, their lips still moving hungrily together as he smoothed his hand over her hair before sliding it behind her neck in an echo of her earlier gesture. Untangling her hands from his hair she pulled him down until his whole weight rested on her, and she let out a satisfied moan, one arm bent, hand beneath his shirt, fingernails digging hard into the muscle of his shoulder, the other grasping his buttocks as she tilted her hips up to his. Grinding his pelvis against hers he pulled his head back for a second to catch his breath and again caught that strange melancholy look in her eyes before she buried her head in his shoulder and pulled him close, her hands tugging at his T-shirt, dragging it up and over his head. Pressing little kisses into the hollow just above his collar bone she whimpered slightly as he moved restlessly, the stones hard on his knees in this position. His imprisoned erection rubbing against her sensitive skin as he did so. As he nudged up her tshirt he felt the first cool drops of rain fall on his back and he started to pull away, suggest they go somewhere else, but she held him tight, whispering softly in his ear, one word. "Stay." Sitting back on his haunches he watched as she crossed her arms in front of her, lifting the shirt up and over her head before laying it on the hard stones, forming a bed of sorts with their discarded clothing. Pulling her onto his lap he unclipped her bra, the rain falling heavily now as he gazed wonderingly at her naked breasts, weighing them in his hands before bending to suck the tip of one into his mouth. Arching her back she rested her hands on her knees, the position pushing her breasts up as her head fell back. He tasted the salty tang of sweat mixed with the fresh cool rivulets of rain running down her naked chest and he bit gently on her nipple, hearing her soft moan as he did the same to the other. Supporting her shoulders with one hand he bent her back further until she was resting on the bed of clothes and he tugged down her skirt to lay it beneath her hips. Sitting back, he stared at her drinking in the vision of her lying there, rain drenched and naked but for the tiny white satin panties, translucent from their exposure to the weather. Sliding his hands from her shoulders to her wrists he raised them above her head, holding them there with one hand and he kissed lightly along her collar bone. He felt her throat vibrating against his ear and realised she was humming something, the song familiar but hard to pinpoint, cut off with a sharp gasp as his mouth reached her nipple again and his hand lowered to rub gently over her panty covered mound. Teasingly he ran his fingers over her slit through the material, not applying any pressure as she writhed beneath his touch. He felt her struggle to release her hands from his grasp and he gripped her wrists more tightly, pushing them back into the pebbles. Moving up to kiss her again he pressed his chest against hers, enjoying the way she arched beneath him to press closer, the rain making their bodies damp and slippery so that her hard nipples glided over his skin as he moved above her. Keeping her hands imprisoned in one of his, he released his belt with the other, unbuttoning his trousers and kicking them off. The material was heavy and wet, clinging to his legs as he pushed it down, his boxers following until he was completely naked. Bunching them up he made a rough pillow for his knees before lowering himself onto her, feeling her moan against his mouth as she felt his hot, hard shaft pushing at her through the thin material of her panties. Raising her legs she wrapped them around his waist, needing to feel him pressed against her through the barrier of her underwear. The rain made it hard to grip and she wound her legs ever tighter, grinding her pelvis against his cock until he moaned in frustration, yanking her panties to one side and burying himself in her in one long, deep stroke. Her hot pussy clenched tightly around him, and he groaned at the sensation of being inside her. Stilling he took a deep breath to calm himself, his hand against her face, thumb stroking across her wet cheek as he gazed down at her in wonder. Opening her eyes she stared back up at him, her pupils dilated and that look in her eyes again. His chest suddenly felt tight and his stomach hollow as he recognised it for what it was. Love, tinged with sadness. The thought both scared him and filled him with a sense of awe. What had he done to deserve that. Her eyes fluttered closed again, her head turning into his hand as her mouth nuzzled against his palm. Bending his head he touched his lips to hers and felt them cling, desperately tasting him as she sucked his lower lip into her mouth, making his cock twitch inside her as if the two parts of his body were joined somehow. Slowly, still kissing her, he began to thrust into her, her hips lifting to meet his, a rhythm that gradually built and accelerated until he was pounding her into the stones, her mouth making little breathy sighs with each impact of his hips against hers. Releasing her wrists he dug his fingers into the fleshy skin of her hips, lifting her to get a better angle, a deeper angle. Moaning she buried her nails in his arse, pulling him closer, her head thrashing from side to side as the noises she emitted became more frantic. As she bit hard on his shoulder he felt her pussy clamp down around his cock and he shuddered, emptying himself deep inside her with a low groan. Rolling onto his side he pulled her with him, her head nestling in the hollow of his shoulder as he wrapped his arms tightly around her. Her leg creeping over and tangling around his, so entwined that he wasn't sure where he ended and she began. As her hand stroked gently over his stomach and the rain fell down around them he heard her humming again, her cheek resting on his chest and her mouth pressing kisses just above his nipple. Holding his breath he listened, the lyrics floating into his head. Pulling her tightly against him he shivered, a chill running up his spine as November Rain shifted imperceptibly into Don't Cry. November Rain The chapters unfold in a sequence of true events from 1966-2005. (Chapter 8) "November Rain" (circa-1972) Cursing at the workmen digging up the street below his bedroom window with a pneumatic drill for most of the day did little to ease the thunderous hangover banging inside his head. He didn't hear the knock at the door. Without waiting for an invitation Charles Henderson bust into the room. Gasping and wheezing, a rush of blood colouring his face and a thin sheen of sweat glowing on his forehead, a heart banging like a drum inside his chest, his hands making persuasive gestures, a wordless mouth betraying all the signs of a man who had taken the stairs a little too quickly for someone of his age and condition. A deep intake of breath and a reassuring smile, wiping a layer of perspiration from his brow, his composure almost restored, a breathless voice taking on a begging tone. "Mark, my good friend....I need a massive favour from you...." he smiled, fiddling nervously with his shirt collar and lowering his voice to a furtive whisper, the hesitancy of a question hanging on his lips. Although he was pleased to hear Charles refer to him as his good friend and even though he had given him permission to sleep with Beverley there was always an uncomfortable atmosphere whenever they met. He was also aware that she had told him about some of the affairs but there were other shadier undertakings, like the 'golden fountain,' that she thought prudent not mention, so under the circumstances he had no reason not to grant this man anything he asked for. "I've got a little problem and I need your help," Charles said, glancing nervously over his shoulder, scanning the room like a spy being pursued by the KGB. "You know I've arranged this surprise retirement party for one of my golfing friends, Alan Purvis....," he said, narrowing his eyes as if deep in thought, searching his pockets for an invitation that wasn't there. He forced a smile and spoke in a melodramatic stammer. "I did....I did give you an invitation for tonight. It's....It's going to be held in the dining room. Any time after seven will be fine. Make sure you avoid Alan when he arrives. Alan thinks he's just coming here to have a drink with a couple of friends." There was a long pause before he prompted Charles. "You said you wanted a favour from me?" "Yes," Charles replied, shuffling his feet on the carpet, his words hurried and delivered in an almost theatrical voice. "I've booked three strippers for Alan's retirement party," he casually announced. "I'm fully booked, so I was wondering if you would let them to use your room to get dressed," he smiled, running his hand along the back of his neck, his questioning eyes waiting anxiously for an answer. Charles took his vague expression as a yes, forced a smile and headed for the door. It was clear by the enthusiasm in his voice that his confidence was growing. "The strippers said that if I give them more cash they would perform extras," he said, a thin smile tugging the corners of his mouth, exaggerating a wink and rubbing his thumb and index finger together in that universal sign for money. "Oh, there's one more thing I should mention," he whispered, as he opened the door. "They prefer to be known as exotic dancers rather than....Strippers." After a shower he slipped into his new mohair suit and glanced into the mirror, an impeccably groomed and handsome man looked back with a conceited nod of approval. He wanted to look his best tonight. He wanted to impress a certain female. After a couple of drinks to celebrate Alan Purvis's retirement he was heading to the Poco-a-Poco Club in pursuit of a beautiful woman called Kath Evans. The heavy hand of Charles Henderson banging on his bedroom door interrupted his fingers fumbling with a silk tie. "Come in the doors open," he invited, splashing a generous amount of after shave over his face. Three scantily dressed women wearing mini-skirts that could have easily been mistaken for belts stumbled over the threshold on towering heels, almost losing their balance, Charles Henderson following quickly behind them, stammering nervously with introductions, their names unimportant their virtue less. Without waiting for an invitation the exotic dancers skipped across the floor, kicked their shoes off and claimed the bed. In a fit of light-hearted giggles they handed out cigarettes and searched inside bags. An older woman in her late-thirties, presumably the matriarch of the act, removed an arsenal of vibrators and rubber dildos from one of the bags while the other two women in their mid-twenties pulled two bottles of red wine and sexy underwear from another. The unexpected sound of the bedroom door closing behind him made him turn on his heels. Without saying a word Charles had slipped out of the room. Frowning at his cowardly departure, a chorus of flirtatious laughter and the sound of wine being poured into glasses broke the brief distraction. The three women had a streetwise confidence. Shameless and cool and outspoken at times, every word prefaced with innuendo and obscenities, but they were extremely polite, respectful and humorous, so he made small talk and accepted their hospitality, always aware of the damage red wine can do to a silver grey mohair suit. The retirement party was in full swing when he walked into the dining room. Even the thick fog of cigarette smoke choking the room couldn't hide the beaming smile stretching across Alan Purvis's face, his friends and colleagues shaking his hand and raising glasses in a toast, offering their best wishes for a long and happy retirement. The dining room had been strategically rearranged with tables and chairs joined together in long rows, all facing a small stage assembled at the bottom of the room. At the back of the room there was a long table with a range of hot and cold buffet food for the guests. A white banner with bold red letters reading 'FUCK THE BUILDING TRADE' hung across the front of the stage. A clear sign that Alan Purvis had worked long enough. The two younger women arrived on stage first, one of them holding an oversized length of moulded latex between her lips, moving the obscene phallus in and out of her mouth with shameless suggestion, swaying her hips and swinging her tits, unleashing two coloured nipple tassels in a rotary twirl, much to the delight of her captured audience. The other woman sat on a chair with her legs spread apart, pulling a string from her vagina. In the crippling silence lecherous men pushed forward anxious to get a better view, forming a straight line like row of Meerkats, watching and waiting, staring with curiosity at the emerging objects attached to the string. When the last object eventually appeared from her body and they discovered it was the ingredients for a full English breakfast, the place erupted into hysterical laughter and repeating chants of 'Bravo.' The older woman arrived on stage wearing lethal heels and sporting a huge strap-on penis, stroking the gruesome implement suggestively in her hand, flashing her eyes and swaying her hips, walking to the centre of the stage and placing an empty wine bottle on the floor. No doubt the very same bottle that held his fingerprints, he thought. The room fell silent as she opened her legs and squatted over the bottle, her face a mask of concentration, adjusting her vulva in line with the phallic target, her fingers parting the fleshy folds, lifting and lowering, easing the rigid column inside her body. LOWER! LOWER! LOWER, chanted lecherous men oozing testosterone and bad language, breaking into a resounding applause when the bottle disappeared inside her body. With the confidence and smugness of a prostitute's pimp Charles Henderson opened a bulging wallet and pushed a handful of notes into the matriarch's hand while the other two girls weaved their way through a sea of faceless men, eventually finding Alan Purvis rocking unsteadily on his feet. Through a fanfare of echoing wolf-whistles and a resounding chorus of, 'OFF! OFF! OFF, from his cowardly audience, the women dragged Alan onto the stage, sat him on a chair, removed his jacket and pulled his trouser down to his ankles. He had seen enough. He finished his drink and looked at his watch. It was time to go. It was just after ten-thirty when he stepped from the taxi, the black clouds hanging overhead and the ominous rumbles of thunder suggesting that rain wasn't too far away. He made a mental note about the damage rain can do to a new mohair suit before glancing at the bill-board by the door. 'The Poco-a-Poco-Club – Tonight's Entertainment Presents - The Black Abbotts Band with supporting comedian and impersonator - Ray Bishop.' The room was cavernous with a mezzanine level dividing the place into two areas. A bar and lounge area with casual seating took up most of the upper level and the lower level comprised mainly of a stage and a myriad of tables and chairs, the only light coming from the stage where the resident band sang a range of melodies from 'Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band.' The club was packed and despite the engaging grilled-beef odours coming from the kitchen the food was decent and the entertainment reasonable considering the price of admission. The evening's entertainment always followed the same format. The night would begin at eight o'clock with the band playing at intervals and introducing the various acts. After midnight the resident DJ took over, playing records until the club closed, the dance floor left to opportunists searching for everlasting love. The Poco-a-Poco Club attracted a diverse range of people from all over Lancashire. Young and old, single, married and divorcees all populated the club on a regular basis, some looking for long term commitment, most of them just after a good fuck. After midnight, men with unfashionable taste in everything would swagger about anxiously trying to look cool and attractive to the opposite sex and women wearing skimpy outfits that covered flesh but hid little, flashed their eyes at every man in the room. But the outcome was always predictable. At about ten minutes to two o'clock in the morning just when the club was about to close, desperate men would circle the dance floor like a pack of hungry lions looking for an antelope with a limp. He stood for a while watching the band through a claustrophobic fog of cigarette smoke, proudly showing off his new silver grey mohair suit, cursing under his breath when he realised no one was paying him any attention, pulling up a stool at the bar and lighting a cigarette, never once taking his eyes off the attractive girl serving drinks behind the counter. A figure hugging black skirt stretched over shapely curves as she moved around behind the bar, her come-to-bed eyes dancing behind a flirtatious smile, her breasts bouncing invitingly beneath a white cotton blouse, her nipples permanently erect. Kath Evans oozed sex appeal. Five testosterone loaded business men all wearing dark suits gathered like a pack of hungry wolves at the opposite end of the bar, flashing bundles of money and bragging about their expensive cars and big houses, laughing and flirting and offering her drinks, trying to gain her affections. If successful, she would be nothing more than a trophy to add to their pretentious egos. Not more fucking golfers, he thought. Brushing a whisper of hair that had fallen over her face, catching sight of the handsome young man in the grey mohair suit sitting on a stool at the other end of the bar, a smile and a skip in her step as she approached him, words forming on impossible lips "What can I get you?" she whispered, a wide smile showing perfect white teeth. He returned her smile, ordered a drink and asked her if she would join him. "Thanks for the offer, but I've already got two drinks waiting for me," she said, pointing a finger at the end of the bar. "Later.... maybe," she said, beaming another smile, a hint of disappointment in her voice as she walked away. The suits worked hard at their pathetic attempts of seduction. One-by-one they approached the bar and handed Kath a piece of folded paper. After reading the contents she just smiled and nonchalantly returned each one to their respective owner. The paper chase was all a little infantile, he thought, dusting away an imaginary mark from his new mohair suit, curious to know what they had written on the pieces of paper. The blood-sucking business men looked to be there for the rest of the night so he lit a cigarette and turned to face the stage. The lights were dimmed to almost darkness with a single spotlight directed at a fat man wearing a white suit and holding a microphone. "My names Ray Bishop," he announced, his dyed black hair, pale complexion and thin moustache giving him the appearance of a hookers pimp. "But I don't have to tell you my name because most of you will know me from the television," he smiled, pausing long enough for an applause that never came. The fat man stretched the boundaries with his cocky and abrasive attitude, although most of his dirty jokes were met with a rapturous applause and a little nervous anticipation of what filth would come next. When he realised he was beginning to have a negative reaction from a few objectors in the audience he decided to calm the situation with a couple of conventional jokes. "I went out last night and got really pissed. I woke up next to a fat ugly woman who was snoring and farting....At least I got home alright." 'I was driving home from work the other night and called into the local pub for a quick pint. I got talking to a stranger at the bar and he told me he was the local window cleaner.' I didn't take him long before he began to brag about his sexual conquests. 'I've shagged every woman in Belmont Drive apart from one,' he said with pride. I jumped into my car and drove to the nearest store and bought a beautiful bouquet of flowers and the biggest box of chocolates I could find. As I pulled into Belmont Drive I could see my wife looking out through the front window. I burst through the front door and handed her the flowers and the chocolates, telling her that from now on things were going to change." "What the hell's come over you?" She asked "Well my love, I was having a drink with our window cleaner and he told me that he had shagged every woman in our street, apart from one." "Apart from one," she repeated.... "That'll be that stuck-up-cow from number eleven." A gratuitous standing ovation accompanied by a rapturous applause and echoing chants of 'Ray Bishop' reverberated around the room, the audience shouting and clapping like a bunch of circus seals, demanding nothing less than an encore from their star performer. A sudden commotion at the end of the bar interrupted the cheers and chants. Two of the suits were arguing with a tall well-dressed gentleman and his attractive wife. It appeared that the tall man was defending his wife from an inappropriate comment made by one of the business men. The situation appeared to be getting close to a physical confrontation when a well-built doorman with an unshaven face and tattoos on both hands appeared from the shadows. His calming smile lacked a full set of teeth and his steely eyes darted around like a caged rat, carefully registering everyone in the room. He was clearly not a man to be messed with. The bouncer spoke in a calm tone with no emotion, trying to defuse the situation. But it had gone too far. With lightning reflexes the doorman grabbed one of the suits by the throat and after getting him in a full arm-lock he ushered him to the exit door. The other four men who earlier in the evening were acting like invincible gladiators now looked helpless and defeated as they dutifully followed their friend through the side door and into the street. Their night had come to an abrupt end. "I see your friends have decided to call it a night," he said, trying to sound sympathetic. A nervous sigh and a forced smile confirmed that Kath wasn't too upset to see them go. "Can I have a refill please and this time will you join me?" he asked, in a hopeful voice. "I will join you," she replied in a nervous whisper. "I think under the circumstances I need something to calm my nerves." As the night progressed they talked, laughed and flirted with each other at any opportunity. He gave her his best leg-opener lines, trying to charm his way into her pants. The night looked promising, but he was still consumed with curiosity. "I was interested to know what the men in suits were writing on the pieces of paper?" he enquired, offering her a cigarette, his questioning eyes waiting for an answer. "Oh that," she casually replied, taking the cigarette from his outstretched hand. "They were offering me their telephone numbers and asking me for a date," she shrugged her shoulders and smiled. "I think they were all married men, and anyway none of them were my type." He hesitated briefly before looking into her eyes to see her reaction. "And what type would that be?" he asked, lighting her cigarette and giving her another heart-stopping smile, discreetly lowering his hand beneath the counter and making a quick adjustment to the untimely growth inside his pants. The demands of an impatient punter banging his glass at the other end of the bar interrupted their flirtatious interlude. "I won't be long," she smiled, skipping across the floor to serve the impatient man. He left the bar and headed into the reception foyer. A few minutes later he returned and handed her a piece of folded paper. In a small recess at the end of the bar Kath read the note. 'Can I take you home tonight – I'm hung like a donkey.' The boldness of his inquiry lifted the corners of her mouth, a flirtatious smile dancing behind flashing eyes, scribbling a hurried reply on the note paper and dropping it on the bar in front of him. 'I finish around two o'clock.' Oblivious to the weather or the mutters from disapproving onlookers they stood in the taxi queue kissing with a suffocating passion, like two reunited lovers after a long separation. Falling into the back seat of a taxi two hungry mouths crashed together, impatient hands searching in the darkness, touching and fondling, probing and groping, the sexually charged intimacy and heavy breathing steaming the windows and getting the attention of the driver. Temperatures rising, heads swimming in emotional overload, pulses racing and heart beats gathering speed, breathing urgent and ragged, tongues invading mouths, sweeping over teeth, touch heightening expectation, arousal inviting curiosity, lowering her hand and squeezing the straining lump inside his pants, impatient fingers fumbling nervously with the zip before sliding her hand inside his trousers, a startled gasp, the swollen limb filling her hand and pulsing between her fingers, a smile pulling at her lips and a wetness gathering inside her knickers, an inquisitive hand unfolding the long thick column from the warm confines of his briefs. Not even the sudden braking of the taxi pulling to a halt at a red light or the driver adjusting his rear-view mirror, grinning to himself as he examined his shameless cargo did little to interrupt their lustful exploration of each other's intimate parts. By the time the taxi reached her front door the adrenaline rush had kicked into overload. She was wet and impatient. He was hard and ready. Two strangers, fondling and groping in the darkness of the narrow street, two lovers lost in the heat of passion, kissing and touching, fondling and groping, urgency and expectation increasing with every heartbeat, a primal hunger reaching a point where they had lost control and were almost eating each other. November Rain Impulse responding to conviction, a shaking hand rummaging impatiently through an overflowing handbag, ignoring the embarrassment of a loose tampon falling to the ground, frustrated curses turning into a jubilant sigh, the key rattling in the door lock with metallic urgency, chemicals charging hormones, optimism fuelling stimulus, pulses throbbing, heart beats racing, a rush of adrenaline flooding vital organs, senses screaming from every nerve in her body for this man to rip her knickers off and fuck her until she begged for mercy. There would be no time for foreplay. They both knew what they wanted. No sooner had the front door closed when their passion spontaneously erupted. Faces collided, lips finding lips, mouths locking together in a crushing kiss, tongues dancing over teeth in a prolonged marathon of oral endurance, twisting and twirling, claiming mouths, exchanging saliva, feasting on the heat of each other's breath. A turbulence of urgent enquiry, hands sweeping over body parts, searching in the darkness, probing and fondling, a tangle of hands and impatient fingers pulling at each other's clothing, buttons bursting free, blouse, bra and shirt abandoned on the floor, shoes kicked off feet.... his suit jacket carefully hung on a coat rail by the door. Two sexually charged bodies drowning in a sea of hormonal expectation, both after one thing, both desperate for physical connection, fondling and groping in a mutual engagement of intimacy, her warm tits rising and falling against his chest, pants joining grunts, need responding to impulse, bodies moving to persuasive urges, cupping and squeezing her breasts, feeling their softness and their weight filling his hands, nipping and pulling, rolling her swollen nipples in the palm of his hands, sucking and biting, holding each one in gentle capture between his teeth, a sea of euphoric sensation flooding her body, teasing her senses and hitting every erogenous nerve, subjecting her to the most painful but pleasurable torture she could ever have imagined. A threatening muscle pressing impatiently against a responsive body, something between her legs demanding attention, the heat of passion building inside her knickers, an aching vulva aroused wet and ready for penetration, the determined voice of a wanting woman resolute and without compromise. No conditions. No promises. None of those complicated things that get in the way of a fuck. "Take me upstairs and fuck me." A photograph of a child in a picture frame on the bedside table interrupted his urgency to remove his pants, but the invitation of two legs spread apart on the bed and the inviting lips of an open vagina peeking through a dark bush of pubic hair brought him back to reality. Two mouths came together in a smouldering kiss, inquisitive tongues snaking inside each other's mouths, adventurous hands embarking on a journey of sexual discovery, caressing and stroking, fondling and probing, sweeping with lustful intent over heated flesh. A vulva burning with desire, a clitoris alive, the molten place between her legs flooding her thighs, pulses racing and heart beats gathering speed, uncontrollable urges and a desperate animal desire fuelling the fire of passion, opening her legs and grabbing his hair, pulling his head down between her legs, an impatient voice pleading for his unrefined contact. "Put your mouth on me. LICK ME...SUCK ME...EAT ME..." A hasty adjustment on the bed, heads greeting feet in a coalition of north and south, his hairy testicles dangling above her face, his eager fingers probing and searching through the thick forest of black pubic hair, pulling her thighs apart and opening her body, two fingers parting the slippery folds of flesh, a warm mouth and talented tongue embarking on a mission of oral stimulation, a proactive communion of cunnilingus. A flirtatious interaction of two hungry mouths moving with heightened intensity, sweeping over genitalia in a union of cunnilingus and fellatio, wiggling his tongue over the urethra in an exotic dance, bathing the fleshy lips of her labia in a warm stream of saliva, teasing the clitoris from the sanctuary of its sticky lair, dipping in and dipping out sucking and blowing, peppering soft kisses along her inner thighs, slipping his tongue between the moist flaps and folds, blowing hot air over her burning vulva, smothering his face in the pubic jungle, feeling the silky hairs slipping between his lips, feasting in the swamp of warm secretions between her legs, breathing in the smell of urine and the musky odours of sex, drinking in the pubic feast of raw fluids oozing from her inner heat, a breathless mouth suffocating in her sex. She cradled his balls in one hand and gripped the swollen shaft with the other, working him hard and working him fast, pulling and tugging, dragging the tight foreskin down the length, pulling back slowly over the bulging helmet, snaking her tongue over the tender membrane, sweeping around the bell-end and dragging her teeth over the responsive glans, a well-practiced mouth gifted in the art of fellatio easing him in and easing him out, sucking and blowing in strenuous breaths, easing him in and easing him out, a consummate expert responding to impulsive need, sweeping her tongue over the smooth head, removing a drop of pre-cum from the eye, feasting on the saltiness of his arousal. A body giving in to submission, a vulva aching for penetration, a pleading voice overcome with need, whispers turning into begging cries, frustrated curses sweeping away restraint. "Fuck me." The mattress squeaked under his weight as he rolled off the bed. Taking her ankles in each hand, raising her legs and resting them on his shoulders at each side of his head, spreading her legs and opening her body, gripping his cock firmly in his hand, shuffling his feet on the floor and moving forward, the bulging head pushing through the pubic jungle, flexing his buttocks and thrusting his hips, nine-and-a-half-inches of swollen flesh sliding deep inside her body. "Oh fuck," she screamed. "Oh fucking yes," she cursed, growling and grunting through gritted teeth, thrusting her hips and pushing back to meet the force, the fearsome length, the impossible girth impaled deep inside her wet vault, her inner core burning with fire, the searing wetness and exquisite torture stretching and filling her dripping sex. Two bodies connecting in the heat of passion, pushing together in a seductive movement of coital intimacy, genitalia embracing genitalia in a slow rhythm of give and take, pushing in and pulling out, back and forth, forward and back, sliding in and slipping out, breathless pants chasing choking gasps, irresistible urges and responsive shuffles, wriggling her hips and pushing back in a mutual gesture of persuasion, the pace gathering speed, in and out, back and forth, two people fucking each other with merciless determination, two voices joining in an overture of crude obscenities and a running commentary of pure filth. "More cock," she screamed. "I want more cock. I want you to fuck me hard. I want you to fucking hurt me," she cursed. "Faster. Harder," she begged. "Fill me with cock," she insisted, shifting her weight on the bed and grabbing her legs with both hands, pulling her knees to her face and opening her body, a voice laden with meaningless words, fading whispers of encouragement demanding more. A fanfare of squeaking bedsprings, a chorus of hard flesh slapping against soft flesh, animal grunts joining breathless pants, pubic bones colliding in a synchronised motion of perpetual give and take, rivers of sweat running off his brow, down his face and pooling on her tits, flexing his buttocks and thrusting his hips, entering and retreating, in and out, pounding and slamming, fucking at the speed of a hammer drill. Moans followed groans, breathless gasps following heavy pants, body-to-body, skin-to-skin, flesh-to-flesh, genitalia-to-genitalia, the energy and turbulent friction, the power of hormonal combustion driving them into a wild and reckless frenzy. He fucked her. She fucked him. The force of his brutal battering ram bruising her inner core, bucking and thrusting, grinding and plunging, the bulging veined muscle penetrating deep inside her body, banging hard against the cervix, reaching undiscovered places, two people breathing in short gasps and breathless pants, two people fucking well beyond their stamina, a bruised and tortured body responding to climax. "I'm coming, for fuck sake....I'm fucking coming," she cursed, wriggling her body and thrashing her head from side to side, shaking and shuddering, gripping the mattress with both hands, every muscle and every nerve in her body tensing, contractions increasing, spasms chasing spasms, orgasmic mutterings and blissful cries guiding the way to climax, a helpless mouth surrendering to muted cries of euphoric fulfilment, sensation mingling with expectation, unable to control the depraved words of perversity gathering at the back of her throat, melodic cries of pleasure growing into a cacophonous chorus of obscenities. "FUCK ME...HURT ME...USE ME...ABUSE ME!" she pleaded, a conflict of chanting curses of "NO! NO! NO!" quickly turning into begging cries of "YES! YES! YES!" A well-oiled machine changing through the gears, pressing his foot hard on the accelerator pedal, his tireless stamina and endless libido going at full throttle, pushing hard, pushing fast, breaking the speed limit, the oily piston root deep inside her body, moving back and forth, thrusting and grinding, in and out, banging and pumping, penetrating and stretching, filling her inner core with an unforgiving force. Strokes long and deep, powerful and urgent, forward and back, hard and fast, deeper and deeper, in and out, an outpouring of viscous fluids spilling from her body, skin smacking against skin, slapping and squelching, the perilous muscle buried deep inside her burning vault, a fast approaching orgasm curdling at the back of her throat. A wheezing gasp, a violent shudder and a thrashing of limbs, a body responding to climax, moans and groans chasing gasps and pleading cries, grunts and animalistic growls joining curses and screams, orgasmic muttering gathering behind clenched teeth, a blissful release screamed in a chorus of crude obscenities. "Ah...fuck...Ah...fuck...Ah...fuck. Ahhhhhh....FUCK ME!" she shouted, the onslaught and energy of an earthquake sweeping through her body with an uncompromising force, an indiscriminate outpouring of liquid passion forcing moans and groans, orgasmic grunts and insane screams, tremors of blissful euphoria and spasms of rapture erupting from her feet to her head, exploding in a earth shattering orgasm, the thunderous epicentre of the quake ravaging her bruised and battered body, sucking the last breath of air from her lungs. A body swimming in perspiration, a heart banging inside her chest, breathless pants chasing deep gasps, sucking in gulps of air, trying to calm her breathing, the brief interlude quickly broken by an urgent grunt and a gesture of movement, a motioning hand gripping her arm and turning her over on the bed. Kneeling on all fours and gripping the headboard with both hands, blinking stinging sweat from her eyes, her sweaty tits hanging loose, her nipples still burning from the painful assault, her bottom perched submissively in the air, her legs spread apart, a tortured vulva inviting a good hard fucking, exhaustion claiming her body, breathing in short gasps of air through her nose and clenching her teeth, a wordless mouth losing the power of speech, nodding her head once, surrendering her body to the inevitable onslaught. The pace quickly gathered speed, the mattress squeaking in protest, the headboard rattling against the wall, the gruesome limb penetrating the burning inferno between her legs, pushing in and pulling out, all the way in and all the way out, sliding in and sliding out, thrusting and grinding, banging hard and plunging deep, hard and fast, moving inside her body with primitive and merciless restraint, like a dog fucking a bitch in heat. A pause and a breathless sigh, letting go of the headboard and pressing her face hard against the mattress, clutching the bed sheets between her fingers, her helpless moans smothered in the fabric, a wheezing gasp and a deep intake of breath, a body responding to impulsive urges, swivelling her hips and pushing back, swaying and wriggling, rocking forward and pushing back, taking every inch inside her body. A tireless fucking machine grunting out his pleasure with ruthless determination, pushing and pulling, banging and thrusting, penetrating deep, pushing in and pulling out, in and out, back and forth, hard and fast, filling her inner core with hard flesh, asserting his primal need for possession and domination, a masterful and unforgiving assault on her burning orifice, a demonstration of supremacy over submissiveness, a sustained exhibition of carnal lust and unrefined need. The climax was vocal and powerful, a copious amount of seminal cargo spewing from the open eye, firing in progressive spurts, flooding the inner walls of the vaginal arena, spilling sticky streams of seminal fluids into the neck of the cervix, the final fluids draining from his balls, the bond of passion broken, his softening organ slipping slowly from her body. In the darkness and the silence of the room they sucked in gasps of air through breathless pants and wordless mouths, trying to come down from the heights of pleasure, rejoicing in the euphoric release, closing their eyes and waiting for calm, two bodies drained of energy, obeying the rules of exhaustion, two lovers giving into sleep. He wasn't sure whether he heard a noise, a movement or a voice, but something in the darkness of the room broke his sleep. He blinked his eyes trying to focus in the darkness, a furtive glance around the room reminding him of his sexual exploits a couple of hours earlier. He yawned into his hand and looked at his watch. It told him it was almost six in the morning. A shuffle of tiny feet and the silhouette of a child peeking through a small gap in the bedroom door caught him by surprise. He looked at the photograph by the bed. He looked at the child who had now appeared inside the room. He woke Kath. It was time to go. He sniffed, disapprovingly. "I'm sorry Kath, but I have to get back to my hotel and get ready for a meeting with the architect, and then I'm heading back to Newcastle," he lied, gathering his clothes from the floor and heading for the door, cowardly and insincere words hanging on his lips. "I expect I'll see you in The Poco-a-Poco Club." Slipping into his suit jacket and closing the front door behind him, lighting a cigarette and looking up into the dark sky, a blanket of grey clouds obscuring the possibility of any early morning light, a cold chill in the air and a faint rumble of thunder in the distance reminding him of the damage rain can do to his new mohair suit. He stood in the recess of the door making a mental note of his options and contemplating his strategy for protecting his suit from the rain. No point seeking refuge with Kath and her child. No telephone. No taxi. 'An umbrella....' he thought.... No. If she had one she would probably hit him over the head with it, and anyway he was in no mood for parental small talk. No more options, he sighed, pulling on his cigarette and looking up into the dark sky, muttering under his breath. 'I might just make it to the bus stop.' Walking quickly down a long narrow street of post-war terraced houses, lit only by a watery orange glow of street lights on both sides, he hadn't got very far when the heavens opened. Fastening the buttons on his suit jacket, lifting the collar and dropping his wet cigarette into a never ending stream of water, sprinting like an athlete from the storm, his footfalls slapping on the pavement, echoes bouncing off walls in his wake, ignoring the whipping sound of a loose shoelace striking the pavement, cursing at the rain, cursing Kath Evans, cursing himself, wishing he had gone back for the umbrella, his sprint turning into a casual jog as he reached the junction to Stockport Road. A brief pause at the roadside to catch his breath, sweeping water from his face and brushing his hand through his wet hair, rivers of water spilling over tarmac surfaces, cars and buses speeding by, wheels throwing up water from pools at the side of the road, mindful of his new suit and the loose shoelace, waiting and watching until the flow of traffic began to ease, stepping off the curb and making a careful maneuver between passing cars, crossing the road to the refuge of the bus shelter. A deep intake of breath and a panting gasp, bending on one knee and fastening his shoe lace, cursing silently at the rain and the inevitable damage to his suit, his thoughts broken by the welcoming sound of a double-decker bus pulling up at the stop. Ignoring the shameful phallic obscenity defacing the bus shelter wall he followed the queue of shaking umbrellas and stamping feet, squeezing his body between three other people on one of the bench seats at the back of the bus. A young attractive girl and a middle-aged woman holding a child on her knee sat between two men on the opposite bench seat. The older woman had tired eyes, messy hair and was plainly dressed. The attractive young girl sitting next to her was a firm breasted teenager with honey blonde hair and long legs disappearing beneath a mini-skirt that breached all the rules of decency, but guaranteed to keep his attention during the journey. The claustrophobic haze of cigarette smoke, the noise of the engine and the unforgiving hour prevented any attempt at conversation, most people deliberately avoiding eye contact, all facial expressions bearing that early morning absent look that sent out a clear warning. 'I'm in no mood for exchanging pleasantries.' Heads started to turn, eyes stared and bodies shuffled nervously on seats, facial expressions showing a hint of disapproval, curiosity inviting forced smiles and sniggers. 'It must be the new mohair suit, he proudly thought. 'At last someone's taking notice.' "Fares please," shouted the bus conductor with heavy lidded eyes and an unshaven face, swaying unsteadily with the motion of the bus rocking from side to side and the wheels fighting with pot-holes in the road, pulling a dirty handkerchief from his trouser pocket and emptying his nose into the filthy cloth, staring at the contents, nothing of interest, pushing the dirty rag back into his pocket and smiling at the man in the mohair suit. "Fares please," he repeated, holding out his hand, his nicotine stained fingers betraying his weakness for cheap unfiltered cigarettes, his jaundice face the colour of a hangover piss, juggling a matchstick in his mouth, making it twist and turn between two huge front teeth sticking out at an angle from his mouth - giving him a clear advantage over others if there was ever a competition for eating an apple through a letter box. 'God was unforgiving when he gave this man a face,' he thought, the outstretched hand waiting impatiently for cash prompting him to reach inside his pocket and grab a handful of coins. He forced a smile at the dirty man and opened his clenched fist. Silver and copper coins looked back from a hand covered in blood. He looked at his other hand. It was the same. Both hands and the inside of his finger nails were covered in blood. It looked like he had been cleaning a slaughterhouse floor. He shuffled uncomfortably on the seat, staring in horror and disbelief at the red stained coins in his blood coated hand, searching for a wound that wasn't there. Removing the matchstick from his mouth and pushing it behind his ear, leaning forward and casually removing a few coins from his red hand, grinning hideously through badly stained teeth before handing him a ticket and skipping up the aisle, a shameful version of 'Waltzing Matilda,' whistling in his wake. November Rain Surreptitious glances, uncomfortable mannerisms, suspicious sniggers inviting mutterings of discontent, the four people sitting opposite staring with curiosity and uncertainty, inquisitive eyes searching for answers, a playful smile lifting the corners of the teenagers mouth shamelessly informing him that his passion for cunnilingus hadn't gone unnoticed. Then it registered. A hemorrhage of memory clearing the fog....The Tampon....Kath Evans must have started her period during their night of passion. It was always dark and in his haste to get away he never got the chance to look into a mirror. Just then something else crept into his thoughts. Christ....My face....If there's blood on my hands.....There has to be blood on....My face. The weight of dread plunged like a brick into the pit of his stomach, a cold wave of fear sweeping over him, torturing his mind and clouding his vision, finding himself in that uncomfortable situation of not knowing where to look. The reality, the embarrassment, the madness weaving its way inside his head, a body giving into submission, lowering his face in his hands, peeking through the narrow gaps between his fingers, gazing nervously into the nightmare, the older woman with a child shuffling uncomfortably on the seat, a worried and nervous expression on her face, turning the child's head, averting any contact with the scary man with the red face. The sound of a bell and people lifting from seats signalled the bus was coming to a stop. Impulse suddenly fed his panic, jumping to his feet and ignoring protocol, leaping from the moving vehicle, his footfalls splashing in pools of water on the pavement, his legs almost buckling beneath him, eventually coming to a halt, leaning forward with both hands and clutching his knees, his head hanging in humble despair, sucking in precious air, trying to calm his erratic breathing. 'Fucking rain... fucking public transport... fucking periods...how do women still live after bleeding every month without a blood transfusion,' he muttered to himself as he jogged along the footpath, the cold November rain thrashing with an unforgiving force against his back, quickening the pace in his step as he approached 'The Royal Belvedere Arms Hotel.' The heavy door creaked on its rusty hinges, opening just enough to avoid the bell chimes hanging overhead. A deep intake of breath and a careful maneuver, squeezing his body through the narrow gap in the door, cursing under his breath and bending down on one knee, picking up a button that had sprung free from his jacket. The entrance foyer was deserted but the smell of bacon and eggs and the humming of an electric floor sweeper informed him that the early morning staff weren't too far away. Walking on tip-toes and holding his blood stained hand across his face, cautiously scanning the room for Beverly Jackson, taking the stairs two at a time, his shoes thudding in rapid succession on the thin carpet, making sure he avoided the treads at the top of the stairs that always creaked, brushing quickly past one of the cleaning staff, avoiding any eye contact, her early morning greeting smothered under the bedroom door slamming in his wake. He rushed to the hand basin and looked into the mirror. The face of a stranger stared back. A crimson tide of menstrual blood coated his teeth and decorated his face like a circus clown, and waterfalls of red marks smeared his neck and shirt collar and his wrinkled mohair suit sagged from his body like a wet rag. The reflection in the mirror threw him into a panic, splashing hot water on his face and inside his mouth, washing away all traces of dried blood from his hands and face, staring at the whirlpool of red water disappearing down the plughole, grabbing the scented soap and vigorously scrubbing his finger nails with a brush, easing slightly when he realised he was nearly taking the skin off his fingers, applying paste to the toothbrush, brushing the taste and the memories from his mouth. He hung his wet suit on a coat hanger, grabbed a towel and headed for the shower. November Third The VR attendant - it's Karen today instead of Lila - stares at me from her booth. I hope there is nothing wrong with Lila. She barely said five words to me yesterday, and she looked a little pale. Karen, she's the newest attendant, and she still looks at me as if I were an abandoned puppy about to be put to sleep. I think Karen will ask me out for coffee soon. Most of the new ones do. It's hard to understand why they bother, though. You would think the word would get around. I hop up into my regular chair and adjust the seat back and arm rests. For the past couple weeks, Lila had been adjusting the seat for me before I got in. No attendant has ever done something like that for me before. Lila is definitely a sweet one. Not that adjusting the seat really matters that much, but still, it's a nice gesture. I think maybe I should do something for Lila, buy her a present or something. She has been very kind to me. I settle back into the steel and foam chair, and just like always, I clip myself into the terminals. The newer model chairs don't need clips, you just sit there, but I like the old style chairs better. I suppose I'm a bit set in my ways. I sit, and just like always, I clench my right hand tight until I feel the edges of the photograph press into my palm. And, just like always, I pull the visor down over my eyes. It is dark behind the visor. Dark and quiet. Darkness. The attendant - Karen - her voice, the barest whisper, fills my ears. "Are you ready, Mr. Rice?" I wave my hand for her to start. I inhale and hold. The scene gradually brightens. A cold, blue sky. And our home perched up on the slight rise of the hill. A door slamming shut, and Rachel shuffling out. Ah. November third. I exhale. November third has sex in it. It's a good one. * * * The first hard freeze of the winter had hit the night before. The ground was covered with brown and orange maple leaves, and the shady areas under the trees sparkled with frost. Rachel's breath formed short, pretty puffs. Rachel was bundled in a stocking cap and scarf and mittens, her thick gray coat pulled tight around her. Her cheeks shone pink, and her lips glowed a lusty red. She shaded her eyes against the bright autumn sun. "Where'd you put the rake?" she asked. The icy air grabbed at my lungs. I liked cold weather. I felt limber and coltish. And I liked doing things for Rachel - all she had to do was ask, and I would happily serve. The rake was all the way around in the front yard, where I had left it the day before, leaned up against the old maple tree. "I'll get it," I said. "Be back in a flash." As I walked along the side of the house, I thought back to Rachel getting dressed that morning. When we were younger, Rachel had never been shy. She would dress, undress, pee, bathe ... she'd do almost anything in front of me. But she had recently started dressing behind a locked bathroom door. I used to see her naked all the time, but apparently those days were over. I completely understood her need for more privacy, of course, but it made me sad that she felt she needed to hide from me. That morning of November third had been a treat, though. As we rose from bed to meet the day, she reverted to her old self. She dressed standing in front of the bedroom mirror again, just like before. And, just like before, I thrilled at the sight of her pulling her panties up over her white bottom, and of her fastening her bra. Since we would be working outside, she pulled on thermal underwear. Soft, long underwear, cream-colored, a layer of dimpled cloth that hugged her entire body, covering everything but her feet and hands and head. She noticed me looking at her in the mirror. I smiled, trying to let her know that I loved her. Rachel's mouth went slack and she lowered her eyes. I reached the tree and grabbed the rake. I leaned against the tree for a moment. I sighed. Rachel lowering her eyes. I didn't like that. In fact, I hated it. I understood it, but I still hated it. With the rake dragging behind me, I walked back towards the backyard. As I rounded the corner of the house, Rachel was there, by herself, kicking through the loose leaves. She stared at the ground around her feet and didn't see me coming. I stopped at the corner and watched for a moment. I didn't often get a chance to observe her without her knowing. She danced around in the leaves, sometimes sweeping kicks, sometimes little back and forth shuffles, sometimes skipping. She took several big kicks, and the leaves puffed up off the ground and floated back down. She bent over and gathered up a big handful of leaves and tossed them into the air. She looked up into the sky as they showered down on her face, her smile wide. I had not seen her smile like that since ... since ... She was still smiling when her eyes lowered from the sky. Her eyes lowered, and she caught me watching. Her expression shifted. Just a subtle shift. Still smiling, her eyes still shining. Beautiful. But the tiniest change in the shape of her eyes and in the curve of her lips. She placed her gloved hand on her hip. Could this be the same woman who would not return my smile earlier that day in the bedroom? The blood rushed to my groin. I dropped the rake. Rachel swept her cap back, letting loose her hair. Her eyes opened up wide and dark. I walked towards her. She took a few hesitant steps forward. If we had been further apart, maybe we would have run. We stopped just a few feet apart. And there we stood for a few heartbeats. Looking at one another. We stood and stared, our combined breath forming a wispy fog. It felt like gravity was pulling us towards one another. We reached out at the same time, and our hands touched. For another beat, we just held each other's gloved hands. And then the gravity overwhelmed us, and we melted together. Her hands came up under my arms to my shoulders, and I pulled her against me by the small of her back. Her body molded up close and our mouths met. We squeezed and kissed. Lippy kisses, alternating upper and lower lips. Rachel's mittened fingers struggled with my belt buckle. I grabbed her breasts through thick layers of clothing. I felt a shock of cold on my butt as she yanked my pants down. My penis popped up stiff. Her wool-covered hands wrapped around my shaft. We toppled over into a pile of dry leaves. I struggled with Rachel's slacks and got them down to her feet. Her long underwear was soon tangled around her shoes. I rolled on top of her, worked my way between her bowed-open legs. Rachel panted and I kissed her, a short, desperate kiss. My penis slapped between her bare thighs. I grabbed hold of my penis and aimed towards Rachel's warm core. I eased the head into her wonderfully warm pussy. Rachel hummed. I shimmied, then moved shallowly in and out, then rocked deeper until my entire cock was buried in her cunt. I began to pump. Rachel grabbed my ass. Her wool mittens felt scratchy. "Uh huh," she gasped. And we fucked. We fucked, grunting and gasping. Rachel hooked her arm around my neck and pulled me down. We kissed hungrily. Rachel's bare knees rose up to my bare hips. She even gave me a weak squeeze. Incredibly, she found the strength to push me off her. We tumbled around in the leaves. I rolled around until I was lying in the leaves, and Rachel got up on top, straddling me. I had fallen out of her pussy during the roll, and the freezing cold was a sudden shock to my wet cock. I quickly held it straight up, eager to feel the warmth and comfort of Rachel's cunt again. And she settled down over me, slowly lowering, my penis entering her vagina, engulfing me with her slippery heat, until she sat firmly on my hips. She sat above me and smiled. She picked up a couple leaves that brushed up against my face and tossed them away. She stroked my cheek with her mitten. And then she settled down purposefully. I was way up inside her. She lifted up and down, faster, until she was humping vigorously. I rubbed her bare thigh with one hand and prodded the area around her clit with the other. Her breath steamed from her mouth and nose. It didn't take long, however, before she grimaced. And then she stumbled and stopped. She tried to resume, but pain lined her face. I ran my hand across the crest of her hip. "Let me now," I said. Rachel nodded, her smile strained. She sat still a moment, not moving. I reached up to her hips and gave her a gentle push to the side. She rolled stiffly back into the leaves. Her legs slowly opened and I got up between them and stabbed between her legs with my penis. I found her opening and sank all the way in until our pubic hair pressed together. The cold air on my butt and thighs invigorated me. I caught Rachel's eyes. "Hey, lover," I said. And she tipped her head back and laughed. It was an old pet name. I hadn't called her that in a long time. I pumped solidly, my body filled with youthful energy. Rachel sighed and smiled. I loved her smile. It had been too long. Her eyes opened. "Come on," Rachel said. Her eyes sparkled with the old lust. She laughed. "Harder. Harder." It had been so long. I joyously stroked in her cunt. I laughed and kissed her. "Fuck me deep," she grunted as we broke the kiss. My butt and legs began to burn with the strain. My body tensed. Rachel's breath blossomed up in quick clouds, one after the other. I fucked her as hard and fast as I could move. She rocked her hips up a little, and I felt a sudden surge. I yelled out, "Oh, Rachel!" The pulsing seemed to source from my belly and my entire lower body spasmed. My semen spurted into her slick hole. Over and over again. It seemed like my orgasm would go on forever. But eventually, of course, it ended. Finally drained, I slumped. And then I shivered, as if I were freezing. Rachel's brow was shiny with perspiration. I stared at her, and she opened her eyes. She smiled weakly. I leaned down to kiss her. But Rachel coughed, several short, deep coughs. A frown marred her face for a moment, but she cleared her throat with just a little difficulty. She looked at me, licked her dry lips, and she smiled. I tried again to kiss her ... * * * A low metallic buzzing, and Rachel's face fades to gray. I am breathing hard, as if I just finished running a two-mile race. I flip up the visor. The walls and ceiling are stark white, and I blink to accustom myself to their stinging brightness. I force myself to breathe slower. An involuntary tear trickles down my face. The attendant, Karen, stares at me from behind the window. I wish she would look away. Lila, she never looks at me afterwards. I wish Lila were working instead of Karen. Lila understands. Lila knows the right way to act. I swallow hard. I pull myself up into a sitting position, fighting against the pull of gravity. I let my feet dangle off the side of the chair. Just like always, I open my fist, and Rachel's creased photograph unfurls in my hand. Her smile is faded and her eyes are dulled by time, but still, Rachel's beauty has not diminished one iota. I flatten the picture and look at Rachel's face. I feel the familiar sinking in my chest. I touch her photograph with my fingers, and I imagine that I touch her. I remember. November third. Yes, November third is a good one. One of the last good ones. I look up at Karen, at her angled eyebrows, her liquid eyes. And then back down to Rachel. Rachel. Lover. I wish Karen wouldn't watch. I hate it when they watch. I cover my eyes with my hand, trying to hide. My throat feels swollen. I try to inhale, but the air comes in ragged. And, just like always, I sob.