0 comments/ 90822 views/ 2 favorites Alter Ego By: English Bob Graham Ward sat. He had been sitting in the same position; eyes fixed straight ahead, for the last thirty minutes. The sounds of sexual excitement from the next room were disturbing and distracting and he half wondered if he would ever get used to them. He believed that his choice in this matter was limited. Every few minutes he would close his eyes, trying to block out the voice of his wife, Sandra, as she howled out her lust at the hands of yet another man. But it wasn't really Sandra, he knew this. Krystal was here now. Krystal was the entity that took over his wife's body on occasions - and these occasions seemed to be becoming more and more frequent these days. Krystal looked like Sandra, sounded like Sandra, but she didn't act like Sandra. Sandra Ward was a sweet, innocent woman in her forties that had been married to Graham for more than ten years - ten years that, in the main, seemed to make some sort of sense to him at the time. Krystal was, to put it succinctly, a whore. All the doctors had tried to treat Sandra; psychiatrists, psychoanalysts, they had even tried a faith healer, but all had so far failed to stop the materialization of Krystal. The medical profession all had names for Sandra's condition but none of them made much sense to Graham - he knew she wasn't crazy, but he thought it didn't take a team of quacks to work out that she had a split personality, an Alter Ego. When Krystal was in residence, Graham was treated as if he were her pimp or caretaker; greeting her customers and mixing pre-copulation drinks. He accepted his task wearily but with the hope that sooner or later, Krystal would disappear back whence she came. Graham's reverie was suddenly broken by an male orgasmic groan from the next room. He stood and, as if by rote, collected the large overcoat that the man had deposited with him on his arrival. Graham knew that now the man had finished, he would be leaving soon. Within a few moments the door opened and a large black man appeared zipping up his fly. Wordlessly, Graham opened the front door and handed the man his coat who, equally silent, took the proffered garment and disappeared out into the street without a backward glance. Graham sighed audibly as he closed the door and returned to the apartment. The door to the bedroom was open and he walked inside. He nodded at "Krystal" dejectedly. "You okay?" "Fine, but shut the fucking door there's a draught!" Graham closed his eyes. Sandra would never have used such language. He doubted that she would even know the meaning of some of the profaneous language that Krystal used. "Why do you do it?" he asked for what must have been the hundredth time. "Look, man. You do your job and I'll do mine, okay? I fuck for a living and you watch my back. It works fine, my cunt's like gold and it makes us plenty of cash! Stop fucking complaining, I give you your share of the money, don't I?" Graham shivered as he looked at his wife's body sprawled out on the bed. She hadn't even bothered to close her legs and he could see her wet, open vagina in all its just-fucked glory. Krystal loved to tease. She knew with her legs spread so wide that Graham could see all that she had to offer and, as always, the thought of a man staring at her body excited her. She arched her back and pulled her thighs wider, her fingers pulling at her labia and opening it to reveal her pink, moist pussy. As her hands began to pull on her nipples, stiffening them and preparing herself for her next customer, she immediately noticed the bulge in Graham's pants. "Look's like you wanna watch more than my back!" she breathed. "You like to watch Krystal play don't you?" Graham took a deep breath and swallowed. His mouth felt dry and his brow heated with embarrassment. She was right, he did like to look at her and a part of him hated himself for that fact. He too was aware of his growing erection as he watched her play with her tits and open her pussy to him. Yes, damn it! He did want to watch more than her back. "Be a good boy and run my shower for me." she said snapping her legs shut playfully. "My next client will be here soon and if you're very good, I might leave the door open!" Graham resumed his sentinel position seated by the front door and waited. He checked his wristwatch as he heard the shower stop and Krystal's feet pad across the carpet on route back to the bedroom - her working domain. This would be her third client today and it was still only midday. He wasn't surprised. Unlike Sandra, Krystal had a seemingly insatiable appetite for sex and he had sometimes known her to satisfy eight men in the same day. Graham often felt guilty - sometimes he honestly preferred going to bed with the wild Krystal than he did with his own sweet Sandra; Sex with Sandra was good - on the odd occasions that they did it - but with Krystal it was so different. She was an animal in bed and would happily suck him off or consent to anal sex with an eager, wicked grin. The shrill ringing of the doorbell made him start. The client was a few minutes early, he noticed. Graham answered the door to a tall white man and took his coat. He recognised the man as having visited only the day before. He was becoming quite a regular. The two men exchanged knowing smiles and Graham watched the customer head towards the bedroom. Krystal, still naked, greeted him as he entered the room and, much to Graham's interest, did exactly as she had promised and left the door slightly ajar. Graham could feel his breathing coming in short gasps as he stared at the open door. His guilt still niggled at him, telling him that to look in would be somehow cheating on Sandra. But his curiosity was too much. Quietly he approached the door and peered into the room. The man was just undressing, helped in this task by the nude Krystal. Her fingers undid his shirt buttons and pulled the garment from him while he shed his pants and shoes. "Let me help get this nice and hard!" breathed Krystal as she wrapped her fingers around her client's swelling cock. Graham watched as the man kneeled up on the bed close to Krystal and allowed her to stroke up and down his tool. Her large, full breasts hung heavily on her chest as she manipulated the man's cock, teasing him and allowing his throbbing cock head to trace lazy patterns wet with pre-cum over her nipples. Krystal's customer sighed deeply and closed his eyes as she swept her hand down under his balls and gently stroked his scrotum. Graham could see that he was now in a highly excited state with his cock twitching in Krystal's hand. "Lie back, sweetheart and let Krystal take care of this for you," she cooed seductively. The man followed her suggestion and, spreading his legs to allow better access to his cock and balls, reposed comfortably on the bed. Graham watched. His own cock was throbbing in his pants as he saw Krystal continue to slowly masturbate her client in front of him. He had never seen a sexual display such as this before and it excited him so much. Slowly he unzipped his pants and began to stroke his own tool in time with Krystal's ministrations. Krystal was beginning to become excited herself. Her client was hard and swollen in her hand as she stroked his member faster and faster and squeezed his balls lightly with her other hand. She wanted to taste him. She had put his cock in her mouth when he had visited her yesterday and was impressed with the clean, salty taste that he possessed. She could feel her nipples hard and swollen and she knew her pussy was literally dripping moisture. Slowly she dropped her head into his lap. Her hand gripped his turgid shaft and she knew that he could feel her hot breath on his groin. She looked at his cock; inspected it almost, before extending her pink tongue and licking up the entire length from his balls to the seeping slit at the top. He tasted as good as ever and with a hungry mouth she enveloped his cock head and sucked him in. Graham was going almost crazy with lust. The woman in front of him had the look of his wife; the small birthmark on her inner thigh that was now exposed, the shoulder length blonde hair that cascaded sexily around her shoulders, the arch of her back as she fellated the man so expertly. Graham's guilt and frustration rose momentarily in his chest as he thought of Sandra doing these things with another man but quickly disappeared again as he told himself that this was Krystal - the whore - not Sandra - and whatever she did was no reflection on his sweet innocent once-a-month wife. It looked to Graham as if Krystal's customer was beginning to show signs of strain under her expert oral caresses. His eyes were tight shut and his breath was beginning to come in short, rasping gasps. "Damn, baby!" he cried through clenched teeth, "Get on your back and let me fuck that pussy of yours! I want to feel your cunt around my hard cock!" "Oh yeah, honey!" whispered Krystal, for ever playing the good, happy hooker, "I want you inside me...want to feel your big, hard cock pounding away in my box.....come on, baby...fuck me...fuck Krystal til she screams out for more!" With an effort of strength that would be associated with a much younger man, Graham watched the client flip the eager Krystal onto her back and drag her legs as far open as he could. Her head fell back onto the pillow and her hands went to her breasts pulling and pinching the stiff nipples until they stood out red and swollen from her breasts. Graham saw the man's cock hard and twitching as he pushed himself between her legs. His hands gripped her thighs and pulled her up towards him, tucking her bare feet under his arms. With a single, mighty thrust he was inside her. Graham realised that there was no finesse here, no foreplay, just a raw animal coupling; the man was using his wife - or rather her alter ego - for his sole enjoyment - he was treating her like the whore that she was! Graham continued to jerk himself off as he watched the man ravage Krystal with a frantic, raw passion. His hips rammed forwards hard and urgently as he drove himself into her body. Graham looked at the expression on Krystal's face; her eyes were tight shut and her mouth was open in a silent moan of lust as her willing body was taken so roughly. Graham had half expected her to be bored or depressed, but Krystal was far from that; it was clear that she was enjoying every second of it! Krystal felt her back arch involuntarily as the big man above her thrust into her hot pussy. She heard herself cry out time and time again as she felt his hard cock trample her clitoris and search out her G spot. Her legs trembled and she knew it was coming. Her toes curled, her nipples tightened as the waves of pleasure crashed over her. She was a whore, but a whore who gave herself completely. As her vaginal muscles contracted, Krystal sensed her client's tool begin to swell within her. "On my tits!" she gasped. "Cum on my tits...on my face...in my mouth....cum for me baby!" Graham watched in awed fascination as the man almost reluctantly hauled his dick from the dark, wet confines of the hot pussy he had been thrusting into and straddled Krystal's chest. His hand moved swiftly up and down his shaft as he pointed himself towards her waiting face. Graham timed his strokes in perfect unison as he looked on. He could see the man was about to cum and wanted - no, needed - to cum himself at the same time. He couldn't have timed it any better; as Krystal's client gave a final, guttural groan of satisfaction and let loose a huge stream of cum onto her breasts, Graham's own tool belched into liquid life and his own semen surged up from his balls and covered his hand. As he saw the viscous liquid drip down and stain the carpet he looked back to see his wife's upper body almost covered with semen. Sandra yawned and fell back on the bed when she heard the door close behind her client. She felt a little exhausted but happy and contented. She had to admit that the invention of her alter ego, Krystal was beginning to be hard work. The fooling of her husband and others had been easy - the difficult part was keeping up with all the wonderful sex that she now had to deal with. But still, she thought, it certainly beat life with a husband that wanted to fuck her no more than once a month! For the third time that day she padded her way towards the bathroom for another shower. Her body tingled as the water cascaded down over her. She soaped her cum stained breasts and touched the open, sensitive lips of her sex. She shivered as further sensations of excitement began to creep over her insatiable body as her fingers stroked her swollen clitoris. Oh yes, she thought quickly as she savoured the idea of her next client, she felt she didn't ever want to stop. Krystal would have to stay around for a while longer yet! Alter Ego Bruce Banner screamed as the needle entered his arm. Why oh why were they doing more tests on him, again? A slight tendril of hatred burned through his brain and he wanted to kill all of the doctors around him. Both the Doctors and General Ross were to blame for his misfortune. It was the whole mess of them that had caused him to get in this trouble to begin with. Them and their damned Gamma bomb, of course, he had never known that his father was the one that had set everything into motion. A shock ripped through his brain and all that he could think about was Betty, beautiful Betty. The helmet was designed to keep his animalistic, more feral side at bay, making it possible for the doctors to perform the experiments that they needed to and at the same time, not let Banner's alter ego, known as the "HULK" out. He thought about his best friend and research assistant, Betty Ross on a beach the last time that they were on a vacation, and the time that she slipped off her bathing suit and went swimming, the water looking so serine as it dripped off her hair in ringlets. He remembered as he took a finger and gently parted her legs, and how she let him slide an index finger up into her warm folds. Bruce relaxed, and he could feel the beginning of another shock as it started to rip though his brain. He didn't care; all he could think about was Betty. Her warm hands caressing his back as they lay on the beach together, He could feel the beginnings of an erection as it played between his legs. He thought of Betty as a tidal wave of a shock marched through his brain, triggering the Hulk. This time, in the lab, there were a mass of bells and whistles as the fail safes were not only engaged and kicked in, but as Bruce felt the change begin, His bones grew as one, becoming hard lined and muscular, going from a small 6'2 one-hundred and fifty pounds to 15 '3 and eight hundred pounds. His cock alone weighed thirty. It burst out of his pants and shredded the zipper that used to be there. "Hulk hate confinement!" He roared as he smashed his muscular arms against the mass the glass partition of the water tank. Even though it was military grade battleship steel the screws and seams of the tank were stretched to their limit as Hulk slammed his massive frame against it again and again. In moments a slew of water blew forth from the machine and the Green Goliath known as The Hulk stepped forth. Bruce Banner had let his alter ego take hold. Hulks powerful hearing listened intently as he heard the throng of soldiers and the clicks of their automatic weaponry as they raced towards Hulk. "Puny humans try to stop Hulk from getting to Betty, from getting to WIFE!!" Hulk's eyes narrowed into thin slits as he focused in on the soldiers. He brought his two mammoth hands down on the ground and instantly caused a massive earthquake, sending the soldiers flying into the air. "Get away from Hulk!" Hulk started to run towards the direction of his home; He knew that Betty would be waiting for him. Each wall that hulk came in contact with was instantly reduced to rubble, and the soldiers that were there flew away from the bubble of earth that surrounded them. Hulk jumped into the air again, clearing five, then ten and then twenty miles as he leaped again, and again. Until he finally found his home, Betty was still inside. There were two guards waiting for him, per General Ross' orders. Yet with just a clap of his hand, Hulk created a wind that whipped the soldiers off their feet and blew them down the block. "BEEEETTTTTYYYYY" The Hulks massive baritone intoned, waking the love of his life from a sound sleep. Betty Ross was asleep in bed; she had only slightly believed her fathers warning of the accident that had changed her beloved Bruce into some sort of hideous beast. Yet the thing that was calling her name wasn't human at all. She sat up in bed tossing the quilt and coverlet off her negligee covered body. There was a rumble that seemed to be approaching her room, and as the rumble got closer, she could see as the southern wall started to get a crack, and watched in horror as the crack became larger and larger. Suddenly the crack exploded, sending a shower of debris towards her, and she screamed. Bruce's heart thudded deeply inside of his chest, his cock growing instantly as he saw Betty. Suddenly, he was there, and with one flex of his finger, her negligee split in two, and she was naked before him, her brown hair sliding back in an arc, and her pubic hair matted ever so slightly as she was caught in some sort of dream. She looked at him, frightened, before she saw his warm blue eyes. "Who?" She looked at the kindly monster/man as the Hulk brushed aside a strand of hair that was in his way, obstructing his view of her face. "Betty..." He moaned slightly, placing a kiss upon her lips and smothering her slightly with his own lips. As she struggled to breathe, the hulk gently slid a finger across a nipple and she moaned lightly, gasping in air as the hulk took away his lips from hers. "Please, touch me again..." She had missed the sensation of a man touching her, and it was almost unexpected as the Hulk placed a digit into her vaginal crevice. "Oh god, oh god..." The Hulk had to be careful as he wiggled his finger; if he made too fast a move he would literally rip her to pieces. She seemed to enjoy it though as he slid his finger slowly in and out of her, though she had to admit that the hulks index finger was five times larger than any cock that she'd ever had inside of her, but for some reason it felt rather pleasurable. Suddenly a wave of pleasure washed over her as Hulk touched her where she wanted to be touched. The only problem was that as he took her clitoris in his fingers, he squeezed too hard and nearly popped the small organ. Betty screamed in pleasure and pain, passing out. "Betty?" Hulk took her hand in his and placed it to his face. "Betty?" Fearful Hulk backed away, and ran out the door, not comprehending that she was unconscious. When Betty awoke, she was alone and all she could think of was... "Bruce?" Alter Ego It was a warm Saturday about a month after my divorce. I sat at the bar nursing a beer and watching the college football game on the TV. While I wasn't really looking to actively socialize, I had come across the lake just to be in a place where there were other people. I pondered how I had gotten to this point. I wasn't exactly broken up about the divorce, as we had been staying together only out of inertia for the last few years. We didn't hate each other, but there hadn't been any love in the marriage for a really long time. On our good days we were comfortable around each other. On our bad days we bickered incessantly. One day out of the blue she suggested we split up and I agreed. I had always thought if that day came it would be filled with drama and emotion, but it was actually anticlimactic. I suppose the divorce cost me quite a bit, but I was just happy that I got to keep the lake house and the boat. I was interrupted from my reflection by a female voice to my left, "who are you rooting for?" "Michigan, I guess", I replied. "Oooh! wrong choice," she answered in a disapproving voice, "Go Badgers!" I looked at her as she settled onto the bar stool beside me. She was petite, cute and very young looking, but her style made an unusual statement. She had jet black hair that was divided into a series of spikes, sticking straight out 8 inches off her head, presumably held in place by lots of hair spray. She wore a loose black tee shirt, ripped black jeans, wide black leather wristbands with metal studs, and funky black boots with lots of buckles. Her freckles softened the look, however, and thankfully she stayed away from the signature black lipstick most Goth girls seemed to favor. "I don't really care either way. In honor of you, I'll change my answer - Go Badgers!" "Nothing like a guy with loyalty," she said sarcastically. I could see she was a handful. I liked that in a girl. "You go to Wisconsin?" "...Um, yeah that's my school" "You don't even look old enough for college", I teased. She blushed and glanced over to the bartender, then leaned toward me and whispered "is it that obvious?" "Sorry, I was just teasing. Besides, I'm old compared to everyone else here...you all look like kids to me" She giggled and flashed me a brilliant smile. "Nice recovery, old man. But seriously, the bartender is probably your age". She was being kind, as he looked to be at least 15 years my junior, but I wasn't going to call her out on it. "Damn she's cute when she smiles" I thought to myself, "I wonder just how young she is?" The bartender came over, "More water, Mace?" "Thanks, Sammy," She held out an empty glass and he refilled it from the hand held nozzle. I caught his eye. "Mace?" I mouthed silently. The bartender glanced at the girl, but she was looking at the glass he was filling. He looked back at me, shrugged slightly and made a quick gesture near his head with his free hand, as though running his fingers over a spiky shape. I got it. I decided to have a little fun with this girl. I turned to face her. "Yes?" she asked when she saw my inquisitive look. "Mace? Unusual name. Is that short for something?" I asked, playing dumb. "Nope" "Is it like the Jedi?" "No" "Like the pepper spray?" "No, no, like the medieval weapon" "So your parents conceived you at a renaissance fair?" "Very funny" "If a bar fight breaks out, can I grab you by your ankles and swing you around?" She rolled her eyes and said, "OK, that one was lame." "Child, you cut me to the quick." "Yeah, well...were not in Kansas anymore" I raised my eyebrows, impressed. She hadn't skipped a beat with that response. She turned and walked away. I noted that she presented a very nice view from behind, her hips swaying seductively. I turned back toward the bar and the bartender said, "I wouldn't waste your time." "Not that I was planning on it, but what makes you say that?" "Half the guys in this place have hit on her and she has shut them all down. I don't know if she is real selective or if she just isn't looking for that. Maybe she's into girls." "If she is not here for you young studs, what does she come here for?" "She loves to dance." "I didn't think Goth girls did that." From my limited observations, they usually hung out in dark corners and practiced looking as sullen as possible. "I'm not sure Goth is really what she's going for. It's more like gladiator meets punk rocker. She is awfully cute in spite of her funky getup," he said wistfully. "Something tells me you were one of the guys she turned down." "Guilty as charged," the bartender said. "So you were just warning me off to eliminate the competition?" "No, I gave up on that a while ago. If you want to chase her, go for it, just don't say I didn't warn you." "Nah, I don't think I need to get 'Maced'. Besides, chasing girls at the bar is a young man's game. I'm just an old guy looking for a beer and a football game." I turned back to the game. At halftime, I looked around the bar. Like most of the waterfront bars on the lake, it was jammed with tourists during the summer. Now, in early September, the crowd had thinned down, but it was still a fairly busy night. It was an eclectic crowd. Probably a third were college kids from the university on the other side of town. There were leftover tourists, young business professionals and a smattering of older local residents like myself. At a table not far from me was an enormous black man dressed in an expensive, well-tailored suit sitting by himself. He stood out for his sheer size, but also had an air of importance about him. "Mr. Big," I dubbed him in my mind. It was something I did when I people watched, assigning my own nicknames. Across the other side of the dance floor was a slight, sandy haired man who shuffled nervously and watched the girls on the dance floor longingly. He wanted to dance, but I predicted he would never get up the nerve to ask anyone all night. "Mr. Pathetic" I dubbed him. Admittedly, my nicknames weren't generally kind. Mace was working the dance floor. She was not overly graceful, but she made up for it with high energy. She treated dancing like an athletic event, making me breathless just watching her. She was on the floor with a chubby, florid, 30-something guy I dubbed, "Doughboy." He was trying to keep up with Mace and failing badly. The song ended and the two of them made their way off the floor. Doughboy put his hand on Mace's shoulder but she shrugged it off. He leaned in and said something to her. She shook her head forcefully. He looked disappointed and made his way to a table with three other guys. I could see they were ribbing him. One made a "crash and burn" gesture. Mace made her way to her own table occupied by two other girls. One was downright scary looking. Her hair was dyed white. She was tall and bony. She was tattooed from the chin down and was bristling with metal from too many piercings to count. The effect reminded me of the tools hanging on the pegboard in my workshop. I dubbed her, "Hardware." The other girl had more the typical Goth look. She was busty and full figured, clad in a black lace dress offset by combat boots. Her black hair was cut at a severe angle and covered one eye. She wore black lipstick and black nail polish. I toyed with "Cyclops," but decided on simply "Goth girl." Mace chatted with her friends for a few minutes. Another song started, getting an immediate reaction from her. She tried to rouse her friends to join her on the dance floor. She grabbed Goth Girl's hand and pulled, but Goth Girl pulled back and shook her head. Hardware held up two fingers in a cross symbol, as if warding off a vampire, and laughed. Mace gave up. She came up behind Mr. Pathetic, grabbed his hand and pulled him onto the dance floor. He was stunned, but obviously thrilled. He was even more awkward on the dance floor than Doughboy. Mace didn't seem to care as she bounced around. When the song ended, Mr. Pathetic thanked Mace, shaking her hand awkwardly and wandered off. I thought to myself, "I bet she's the subject of his masturbatory fantasy tonight." I looked back at Mr. Big. Curious, I asked the Sammy who he was. "Demarcus," he answered. "He was an offensive lineman for the Vikings a couple of years ago. He's the one who asked me to put on the Wisconsin game. He's got a nephew who plays wide receiver for them. Number 83, I think. Demarcus owns the big white house on 'The Point'." I knew the house he referred to. I had admired it many times from the lake. As I looked over at Demarcus, Mace approached him. "Dance with me, Demarcus." "C'mon Mace, I'm watching the game. My nephew's playing." "Just one song. There's a commercial on now anyway. You won't miss much. I think you're just being lazy." "Damn, girl, you're like the energizer bunny. OK...but just one song." Demarcus was surprisingly light on his feet for a man well north of 300 lb. I reminded myself that he had been a professional athlete and footwork was an important part of his craft. Sammy chuckled, "Kinda looks like a wrecking ball dancing with a scrub brush." I turned back to the game, now well into the third quarter. Mace stopped by the bar twice more to refill her glass. "She doesn't drink alcohol?" I asked the Sammy. "Oh, she does. White Russians, usually. But not when she's dancing up a storm. Says she needs to hydrate. Not sure she's old enough to drink, to be honest. I carded her the first time she came in and her ID says she's 22. I have my doubts, but I couldn't find a reason to reject the ID, it looked legit." Curious, I asked him, "Did her ID actually say 'Mace'?" "I didn't notice. I don't look at names when I check ID's. Picture and birth date is all that matters. You know, for a guy who claims not to be interested, you are paying her a lot of attention." "Hey, I'm a people watcher, and she's the most interesting person in here." "I can't argue with that." I didn't want to admit it, but I was becoming a little infatuated with this funky girl. With her black clothes in a dark bar, it was difficult to really see her physique, but what I could make out appealed to me. Moreover, her lively personality was hard to ignore. The crazy hair, I could do without. The game was just about over. Wisconsin lined up for the winning 42 yard field goal. I heard Demarcus willing the ball through the uprights, "Go, go, go...Yes!" I heard a voice right behind me say, "We won!" and a pair of wiry, sweaty arms wrapped around me from behind, then let go. I turned in surprise to see a grinning Mace. "Sorry, I get a little excited sometimes," she said, not looking sorry at all. I laughed. "You have permission to hug me any time you want." Mace sat down at the bar and ordered a White Russian, just as the bartender had said. "Done dancing?" I asked. "For now." "You were working up quite a sweat out there." "Yup." You don't wait for the guys to ask, do you?" "If you wait to be asked, you end up losing half the night. I don't like waiting." She looked like she suddenly realized something. "You've been watching me." "I've been watching everyone, but you just happen to be the most interesting person here." She blushed. I decided to tease her a bit more. "So tell me something: you dragged just about every guy here onto the dance floor, why not me?" She looked a little flustered. "You were watching the game" "So was Demarcus, but that didn't stop you" "Demarcus is my friend, besides, he's an awesome dancer" "So, you don't like me and you think I can't dance," I summarized. "I didn't say that!" She looked like she was starting to get genuinely upset. I winked at her and she realized I was joking. She said, "You're a jerk," and gave my shoulder a playful punch, then she stepped back and made a show of sizing me up and down. "You know what? I bet you can't dance." This was getting interesting. "You bet? What sort of wager did you have in mind?" "I would think dancing with me would be reward enough." Mentally, I gave her props for the saucy answer, but I needed to parry. "OK, fine. We dance and if I am better than Demarcus, I win a second dance, to the song of my choosing. If I lose, I'll pay your bar tab." I could tell what she was thinking; this was a win-win proposition for her. People are always surprised to find out that I am a very good dancer. It just comes naturally to me, but apparently I don't look the type. "Damn, you are really good," Mace said as we left the floor. Several onlookers high-fived me. "All right, I concede. You've won your second dance, go pick out your song." She looked perfectly happy about losing the bet. I went and talked to the DJ. We returned to the bar. I told Mace I would let her know when my requested song came on. "What is it?" she asked. "You'll see." We chatted for a few minutes more, then I heard the first notes of my request. It was a slow, romantic song and there was only one way to dance to it. Mace's eyes widened when she realized I had outmaneuvered her. I wondered if she would try to slow dance at arms-length like a school kid, but she pressed her body close to mine and draped her arms over my shoulders. She was sweaty, but her body felt great. I could feel her small, round, firm breasts pressing just below my chest. I held tight around her slender waist. She swayed her hips with the music intoxicatingly. "You are a sneaky bastard," she whispered in my ear. When the song ended and a fast number began, I let go of Mace and turned, assuming we would head off the floor. She grabbed my arm and said, "Where do you think you're going? You're staying out here. I want payback for that dirty trick." We worked up a sweat to the next couple of songs. As we cooled down at the bar later, the bartender came over and said, "Just to let you know, I hear the police have set up a sobriety check at the end of our driveway. If you have any doubts about being under the legal limit, I can call you a cab. Let me know soon, because we are closing in 20." Mace looked a little concerned, but said nothing. When the bartender moved away to warn other customers, I turned to Mace and said "You look a little worried." "I've only had a couple of drinks, but I'm not legal drinking age," she said quietly, "I can't go through that checkpoint. The first time I came here, I used my sister's ID, but I don't even have that tonight. Even if I'm a passenger, they could check me. I'd be in trouble and so would the bar. What the hell am I going to do now?" "Well, there is another option..." "What?" "My boat is docked out back. I am planning to sleep aboard tonight. Don't take this the wrong way, but you are welcome to join me. There is room for two. I promise no funny business." She brightened up immediately, "Cool...thank you!" "Look," I said, "you might want to check it out first before you accept. I'm not gonna lie, it's pretty tight quarters." "Let's go check it out now." We walked out the back door and out to the dock. "Oh my god, it's gorgeous," Mace exclaimed, when she saw the boat. I swelled with pride. At the dock was my 24' Riva runabout, all gleaming mahogany and chrome. This Italian built boat is rare in the US. I had bought it at an estate sale in Newport, RI. It was in such rough shape, the owners didn't think it was worth much. I knew better. Despite the fact that there were bittersweet vines growing through the hull I knew it was worth restoring. I spent the better part of five years restoring it to its former glory. It was now valued at $250K, not that I would ever dream of selling it. As nice as the boat is, the berthing under the forward deck is rudimentary and cramped. The boat isn't really meant for overnighting, except in a pinch. There is simply a flat trapezoidal upholstered area up at the bow with less than three feet of headroom. It was just wide enough at the forward end for two people. Mace didn't seem phased, she just kept saying how beautiful the boat was. I pulled out a bottle of wine and we sat on deck under the stars drinking and talking. It was close to 3:00 am when Mace said, "I need to get some sleep." She acted like she was going to crawl in to the berthing as is, then thought better of it. She sat down at the helm and took off her boots. I watched with interest, wondering if that was all that was coming off. My heart rate quickened when she stood up and unbuttoned her jeans. She stopped and looked at me, "You are going to sit there and watch me?" "A beautiful girl stands up in front of me and starts undressing, and you expect me not to look? I'm all for being a gentleman, but there are limits." "Fine, but remember you promised no funny business" "Don't worry, I take my sex quite seriously." A look of fear crossed her face and I realized my banter had gone too far. "I'm sorry, that was supposed to be a joke. I swear I will not try to take advantage of you." She glared at me and I held my breath, waiting for her next move. Her face softened and a smile slowly played across her lips. Without breaking eye contact, she began to swivel her hips and wriggle out of her jeans. Her eyes dared me to look down. I didn't give in. Mace turned and bent down to go below deck, giving me a brief flash of a thong clad ass. "Damn, that's not fair. Not after I promised to not make the moves on her," I thought to myself. Taking her lead, I removed my jeans and climbed in beside her in my boxers. True to my word, I gave her as much space as I could. I awoke out of an erotic dream to find that somehow we had gotten into a spooning position. My erection was pressed between my stomach and the top of Mace's ass crack and my arm was draped over her. I lay there for a few seconds enjoying her warmth as the fog of sleep cleared. I worried that if she woke up she would accuse me of breaking my promise. I tried to extricate myself without waking her, but she grabbed my arm as I was pulling it away and said, "No, stay there...this is nice." She wiggled her ass a little, sending shock waves through me. I wondered if she was absolving me of my promise, but she seemed to read my mind and said, "Just remember, you promised no funny business, so don't be looking for any holes to stick that thing in." She held my hand in hers and pressed it against her firm stomach. I suspect this was more about preventing my hand from wandering where she didn't want it than a sign of affection. With the pleasant sensations of spooning with her and the rising sexual tension, it took a long time for me to fall asleep again, but finally I did. The next time I woke up, the sun was streaming in and I got up and used the rest room at the head of the dock. Upon returning, I was struck by how peaceful Mace looked in her sleep. On a whim, I pulled out my sketch pad and captured the scene. She awoke just as I was finishing the sketch. "Hi sleepyhead." "What are you doing?" I turned my sketchpad around. "That's really good, but my hair is a disaster" Mace said. She stretched and asked, "What time is it?" "10:00" "Shit, I've got to go." She wriggled back into her jeans, flashing me another shot of her ass cheeks in the process. Grabbing her boots, she gave me a quick peck on the cheek and was gone up the dock, leaving me with a terrible case of blue balls. _______________________________________________ Wednesday afternoon, I knocked off work early to attend my daughter's tennis match. Alexis is a junior in high school and is shaping up to be a very competitive player. She has an outside chance of getting a Division I scholarship. In previous years she had played only during the high school season in the spring. As she got more serious, she joined a premier team that played matches during the summer and fall as well. I tried to make it to as many matches as possible, but they often conflicted with work commitments.